


Flowers Never Bend

by Andromeda



Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-25
Updated: 2010-03-10
Packaged: 2017-10-20 06:03:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 33,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/209542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andromeda/pseuds/Andromeda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Doyle vanishes after acting strangely, everyone wonders what is going on. It doesn't take long for Bodie and Cowley to realise there's a lot more to this than meets the eye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

_Through the corridors of sleep  
Past the shadows dark and deep  
My mind dances and leaps in confusion.  
I don't know what is real, I can't touch what I feel  
And I hide behind the shield of my illusion.  
 **Flowers Never Bend with the Rainfall - Simon and Garfunkel**_

 **Friday 24th February**

 _"Harder!"_

Bodie canted his hips higher and arched his back as he cried out his demand. His fingers clawing at the rumpled sheets as he tried to find the purchase to meet the more brutal pace Doyle obligingly provided.

 _"Come on!"_

As Doyle's thrusts grew ever harder and faster, his grip on Bodie's hips became tight enough to bruise. But Bodie relished the physical connection; that hard, calloused grip providing a proof of identity that Doyle's habitual silence could not provide. Meanwhile, Bodie was loud enough for them both, his moans and curses all but masking the creak of the ancient bed beneath them.

Bodie's cock, purposely neglected, was rosy and still wet from Doyle's mouth. His hands trembled as the temptation to take himself in hand grew stronger, but he resisted, balling them into fists, wanting this to last as long as possible.

His upper thighs slid across sweat-slick shoulders as he attempted to pull himself higher, closer, by force of will alone. He bit his lip, tasting copper and salt. He needed this connection, needed to feel possessed, owned, by the man half-crouching over him. Bodie wanted to freeze this moment forever, preserve this perfect piece of teamwork, never to let go.

 _"Not yet, not yet, not yet, not yet..."_

But it couldn't last. With a final cry, half of triumph, half of disappointment, he came, his whole body convulsing out of control, his release spattering across his chest. Lost in his own orgasm, he barely registered Doyle's own orgasm, moments later.

Seconds or hours later Bodie slid his legs from Doyle’s shoulders as the other man carefully withdrew. He spread his legs further apart as Doyle came to rest between them on his knees, hands either side of Bodie's head, back arched over him, the damp auburn curls tickling his face. Doyle drew in a few shuddering breaths before raising his head to meet Bodie's gaze. Bodie grinned up at his partner and noticed Doyle's stare soften slightly in the half-light of the bedside lamp before the other man jerked back, sliding off the bed and onto his feet.

Bodie stretched languorously, wincing slightly as sore muscles at the base of his spine made themselves felt. "That was…" he started to say before finally registering the deliberate movements next to him. He turned to face Doyle. "What are you doing?"

Doyle paused, one leg in his jeans. "What does it look like?"

"Oh." Bodie thought for a moment. "I thought you'd stay a while."

"And do what, exactly?" Doyle's tone of voice was odd.

"I don't know. Share a beer or two. Catch the match."

Doyle nodded towards the clock on the bedside table. "Bit late for that, isn't it? Match finished ages ago."

Bodie squinted. It was, indeed later than he had first thought. "Huh, I didn't realise it was so late. Time obviously flies when you're having fun."

Doyle forbore to comment and stood, pulling his skin-tight jeans over his hips.

"Well, there's still time for that beer, if you fancy it?"

"Nah, got things to see, people to do. You know how it is."

Bodie grinned. "You certainly did me. Well, if you're sure?"

Doyle nodded, slipping on his trainers and looking around for a moment. "Any idea where my shirt is?"

Bodie propped himself up on his elbows. "Probably somewhere in the hall. S'where the action started, after all."

"Don't remind me," Doyle muttered and Bodie frowned.

"Anything up?"

"No." Doyle sounded defensive. "Why should there be?"

"Well, it's not like you to run off so soon." Except it was, lately. Doyle had been up and out of the flat before the afterglow had worn off the last few times they'd engaged in this particular extra-curricular piece of teamwork..

Doyle shook his head. "As I said, I've got things to do. And I could do with the sleep, considering the jobs The Cow has had us on for weeks. I'm beginning to forget what my own bed looks like."

That, at least, was true. Three weeks undercover for Doyle, before being flung headlong into the op that had netted the squad a tidy ring of bombers. But still.

"You could always…" Bodie started, before falling silent, confused as to what he was saying.

Doyle's gaze turned sharp. "What?"

"Doesn't matter." Bodie muttered, knowing any invitation would be rebuffed. "Hey, if we're on report-writing duty tomorrow, we'll get out at a reasonable time. Fancy sinking a couple of pints down at the Black Lion after work?"

Doyle's sigh was long-suffering. "Who is she?"

"New barmaid. Biggest knockers in Hammersmith, no lie. Bound to be a raver. I'll even let you have a punt, sporting-like, if you want."

"That's jolly decent of you," Doyle snapped back, sarcastically.

"You can soften her up a bit before I go in for the kill."

"And if she fancies me?"

"Well, I wouldn't want to make it with anyone mentally deficient, now would I? You'd be welcome to her."

That pronouncement was met with stony silence. Doyle turned to the bedroom door.

"Hey," Bodie tried one more time.

Doyle stopped, back to him.

"I'll pick you up tomorrow."

Doyle half-turned back to the bed. "Now who's mentally deficient? Have you forgotten that I drove you back earlier, after your wheels met with that mishap with the forklift truck?"

Bodie had forgotten, but he was not about to admit that. "Well, in that case, I'll swing by yours early. You can cook me breakfast and then you can drive us both in."

"With what? Three weeks undercover, remember. The refrigerator has probably grown new life in that time."

This was getting ridiculous. "I'll bring something over."

"You do that. I'm off; else I'll never get home." He swung the door open and vanished through it.

"See you tomorrow, Ray," Bodie called after him, but Doyle didn't answer him and a few moments later he heard the front door close and lock.

Bodie grabbed a handful of tissues before turning his back to the door. He pulled the creased and sweat-damp sheets over him, feeling hard done by. Bloody Doyle, going and ruining the mood like that. He pummelled at the pillows, trying to get comfortable. What had got into the man anyway? It wasn’t as if this time hadn’t been all his idea. All Bodie had done was suggest takeaway and a few beers in front of the game. That didn’t necessarily equate with fucking. Though Bodie had hoped that would be the culmination of the evening, of course. Anyone would. Doyle was damned good at it. But the invitation hadn’t been issued with that in mind, entirely. After the undercover job he’d just been on Doyle would want some time to unwind, become himself again.

But Doyle had had other ideas. Barely had Bodie locked the front door, than Doyle was on him, pushing Bodie hard against the wall, scrabbling at his clothes. Caught up in this whirlwind of lust and need, when Doyle had growled “Bedroom. Now." Bodie could only follow.

Damn, but the Golly was a firecracker when he was worked up.

So what was eating at him? Agonising over the last job? But it had been a success, the only injuries worth writing home about on the wrong side. Bodie himself had sustained a few cuts and bruises as he had leapt out of the way of a wayward forklift truck, but it was nothing unusual. Everyone caught bang to rights. It had been just another job.

Perhaps that was it. Perhaps Doyle was getting dissatisfied with the job full stop.

That gave him pause. Perhaps Doyle was thinking about upping and leaving him - him and the rest of CI5, of course - without a word or by your leave.

Never. Doyle wouldn’t do that to a mate. Too bloody conscientious by half, that boy. But still, he might just be working himself up to a resignation speech.

Bodie frowned to himself. How long had this been going on? He thought back, but he couldn’t pin-point a change. It had happened so gradually.

These episodes of mind-blowing sex were infrequent enough, especially considering the punishing pace the Cow had set them recently. Which was worrying in itself. But that was a thought for another time. Bodie really didn’t have the mental energy to worry about Cowley and Doyle at the same time.

But what to do about Doyle? He couldn't be serious about leaving him. Doyle just needed taking out of himself, that was all. A few pints with the rest of the squad, a darts match or two. Pick up that barmaid together, perhaps.

Yeah, that was it. A night of uncomplicated fun is just what the Bodie ordered. The two of them taking it in turns with a willing lady. Even together, if she was amenable. That would soon put the smile back on Doyle’s face.

And with such thoughts, Bodie fell asleep.

  


* * * * *

 **Saturday 25th February**

The February air was chill as Bodie leaned on Doyle's doorbell next morning. Too early by half, Bodie was convinced, but he _had_ promised to bring round the makings of a good breakfast and so he was juggling a Spar bag packed with breakfast goodies, from bacon and eggs to a pint of milk, reasonably sure that Doyle wouldn't have had time to even pick up that necessity.

There was no answer. Bodie frowned and pressed again before giving up and retrieving his own set of keys from the depths of his pocket. After the shooting, the one that landed Doyle in hospital for six weeks, it had seemed a good idea to trade flat keys. Just in case. Bodie really hadn't appreciated the level of acrobatics he'd needed to let himself in that day and in the event of the next flat not having a balcony or a convenient fire escape, it would definitely make things easier next time.

Not that there was going to be a next time, of course.

He took the three flights of stairs two steps at a time, humming a little tune to himself as he did so. Doyle was probably still asleep. Rather strange for a man who was usually up with the lark, but not so surprising considering the amount of sleep he'd got in the last three weeks.

He fetched up at the front door, nothing looked unusual, and unlocked it, pushing it wide open.

"Hi honey! I'm home!" he carolled.

But there was no answer.

Bodie dumped the bag in the hallway and, the skin on the back of his neck prickling, he pulled his gun from its holster and walked down the narrow hallway, pushing open each door as he came to it. Bathroom on the right was empty, so was the living room and kitchen. The bedroom door was ajar, and Bodie pushed it open quietly with the muzzle of the gun, not daring to think of what he might see as the room was revealed.

It was empty. Doyle had obviously forgotten and left early.

Except there was something was off about that.

Bodie scanned the room more thoroughly, taking in the unmade bed, dirty laundry still in the basket and then made his way through the flat again, this time taking more note of each room than the lack of its usual resident. He picked up the bag in the hall automatically, closing the door with a definite slam as he did so and carried the groceries through to the kitchen where he dumped them on the side.

There was weeks old dust on the counter; two plates and two mugs still sat dirty in the sink. The same crockery they had shoved in the sink before haring off to HQ three weeks before.

Bodie crossed to the window in the living room, which looked over the quiet suburban street, and scanned the road up and down. Doyle's car was nowhere to be seen.

Doyle hadn't left early this morning to go running or anything else. He hadn't been home at all.

He sat down on the sofa, thinking furiously. If Doyle hadn't been home, then where had he gone? It had been late when he left Bodie's place last night, so it wasn't as if he'd have found a more inviting bed for the night.

Well, that's what he hoped.

Urgent call out? But why then hadn't Bodie been also called out? Doyle was the half of the partnership that had been run ragged over the last few weeks. Bodie was as fresh as a daisy by comparison.

A grass then? But what could be so important that it had sent Doyle out into the night when all he had professed to wanting nothing more than his own bed and six hours uninterrupted shut-eye.

Personal or job-related? Doyle had no family worth speaking of and any current bird of Doyle's wouldn't have a problem so big it warranted such an unsociable hour. Not that Bodie knew of any current love-interest. Unless it was both. Bodie scowled as he remembered both Ann Seaford and Kathy Mason. Really, Doyle's birds were always more trouble than they were worth.

The only problem with that was if some damsel in distress had shown up at Doyle's some time last night, why hadn't Doyle knocked him up as well?

Perhaps it was time to call it in.

He pulled out his R/T, working out what to say in order to minimise the risk of embarrassment to Doyle if it turned out he'd just decided to go for a long drive or something, when suddenly the door burst open, a canister arcing through the opening, releasing a pungent gas.

Coughing, Bodie immediately dropped behind the sofa, pulling out his gun as he did so, trying to get low enough that the gas did not affect him. But it was in vain, as his vision wavered, shadowy figures approached him.

"Take him," he heard one say as he slipped into unconsciousness. "He's wanted too."

  


* * * * *

Bodie awoke with a splitting headache blurring his vision. He briefly wondered what was going on before recent events came flooding back with a vengeance. Some kind of stun gas, he guessed, but who were his abductors? And 'abductors' was definitely the correct word as the headache diminished to merely unbearable levels, and Bodie was able to glance around him.

He was lying on a simple cot in a nicely anonymous cell; grey walls, no windows, the only illumination being from a single, bare, light bulb. A table and two chairs, securely bolted down of course, completed the furnishings. There was no clock, and his captors had divested Bodie of his own watch, so he had no way of knowing how long he'd been out. Along with his watch, all the contents of his pockets, gun, ID, his shoes and even his socks had been taken. Whoever these men were, they were certainly professionals.

He sighed, in the circumstances it was unlikely he was getting out of here any time soon. On the basis of the ease with which he had been snatched, he was even loath to attempt any precipitous escape.

Even brooding as he was, Bodie still didn't miss the click of a key in the lock and he steeled himself to meet his captors, sending up a fervent prayer to God, Cowley and Ray Doyle that he was to be rescued soon. It was with rather a shock, therefore, for Bodie to recognise the man who walked into the cell as the door swung open. He immediately stood, straightening his spine.

"I'm glad to see you, sir."

George Cowley pushed the door closed and fixed him with a gimlet stare. "Are you?" he enquired mildly.

The Cow looked very angry, Bodie could tell. He pitied the poor fool that had trespassed on the Cow's sacred territory. "So, am I sprung then?"

"Not quite," Cowley responded. "Where's Doyle?"

"No idea. He wasn't at his flat when I was grabbed. You've not found him yet, then?"

"You have no idea where he is?"

"No. I just told you," something was niggling at the back of Bodie's mind. "What's going on? Where am I?"

Cowley sighed heavily. "I'm surprised, Bodie, that you don't recognise your surroundings. You've spent enough time in here in the past. Though I suppose it looks very different from the other side of the table."

The first stirrings of icy fear trickled down Bodie's spine as he finally realised where he was. "Headquarters. But why?"

"You are here because we believe you have information relating to the disappearance of Raymond Doyle."

"So this isn't your average debrief then? What is this about?"

"We have evidence that Doyle has been selling on information to person or persons unknown."

Bodie stared at Cowley for a long moment, absolutely sure he'd misheard him. Flopping down into one of the hard metal chairs, he willed the other man to set him straight. "Ray's not... I mean... He can't be... I mean, he's completely straight. One good copper..."

"I know," Cowley said, taking the other chair, facing Bodie. "He obviously had us all fooled."

"But he can't be. I'd know, damn it." He stared at Cowley. "You said you had evidence. How convinced are you?"

"Very convinced, for what its worth. You recall the database we had installed a couple of years ago, of course. A routine audit threw up a few discrepancies. The most notable was that there had been a number of unauthorised accesses."

"Ray?"

Cowley nodded. "No doubt about it. Although he, somehow, was able to access some of the more secure files, his talents didn't extend to doing a decent job of covering it up. When the administrator ran the relevant reports, the patterns were very clear."

"The reports could be faked," said Bodie desperately.

"We are quite content that they aren't."

"Well then, perhaps someone else got hold of his password?"

"In which case Doyle is guilty of negligence. But no. We've checked. Doyle was in the building every time there was a breach."

"How bad is it?" Bodie's voice was no more than a whisper.

Cowley pursed his lips. "Of the files he accessed, discarding those which were legitimate, up to eighty percent of the related operations soured to some extent or other. Either through loss of leads or, unfortunately, loss of life. You remember Geoff Cutting, don't you?"

Bodie nodded warily. Doyle and he had attended the fellow agent's funeral only a month before.

"The gang were suspicious of him awfully quickly, don't you think? Almost as if someone had let on that an agent would be undercover."

"But no-one knew about the operation."

"You didn't. But I did, naturally. And so did Doyle. He knew about it three days before Cutting was sent out to his death. What was Doyle doing at Wormwood Scrubs that week?"

Bodie thought back, trying desperately to think of any concrete evidence against the stack Cowley seemed to have. "He was talking to a snout. He'd had a call that the guy might have some relevant information."

"And did he?"

"No. Ray said it'd been a complete waste of time."

"Who did he go to see?"

"Ray never said."

"Were you there when Doyle took the call?"

"No."

"So you don't, in fact, know whether Doyle took the call or not."

"He said he'd taken the call. That was good enough for me. At the time." Bodie rubbed at his forehead. "I still don't believe it. Ray is less likely to be a double agent than I am!"

"That I can believe, which is what I am trying to find out. The question is, are you?"

"You think... Ray and I... Oh Christ."

Cowley stared impassively back.

Bodie took a couple of deep breaths to calm himself. This was not the time to start getting angry. "For what it's worth, Sir. I'm not."

"I appreciate your directness, Bodie," Cowley remarked, dryly, "However, in the circumstances, you will appreciate that I don't take that as read, quite yet."

"And do you have any 'evidence' against me?"

Cowley shrugged. "All evidence against you is circumstantial at best. The most compelling being your sexual relationship with Doyle."

"Relationship?" Bodie was thunderstruck as much at the choice of words as the fact that Cowley knew about their occasional off-duty activities. Finding his voice, he protested. "A few rough-and-tumble encounters hardly constitutes a 'relationship'."

“On the contrary. You’ve been having sex together on a regular basis for nearly three years. Marriages have been built on less."

 _Three years?_ Well, it had been a lot longer than that since their first time. Ray had managed to trip Bodie into bed within weeks of them being first paired. Not that a bed had actually been used, of course. But there had been a lot more times in the recent past than there had been to start with. There was just something comforting about bedding someone you were close to, knew all their secrets, all the little details about how to turn them on. No fuss or hassle. No forking out for plays or meals when all you wanted was just comfortable fun. And, in a life that was never comfortable and rarely fun, it was a little bit of something to cling on to.

"Give over, Sir. Neither Ray nor I are queer. It's just a bit of fun, that's all."

"And does Doyle feel the same?"

"Of course he does." Where did the old git get off suggesting _that_ about him? Of course Bodie wouldn't make a fuss if Ray called a halt to their extra-curricular activities. There were plenty of willing bed-mates to be had around the city. Bodie had never forced such an issue yet and wasn't about to.

Cowley raised an eyebrow, but dropped the subject. Instead he went back to the most pressing matter. "So, you've definitely no idea where Doyle has gone?"

"No idea. He left mine a bit after eleven last night saying he needed to get some sleep. I arranged to meet him at his first thing this morning with breakfast as he didn't have anything in, what with the last stint undercover. I expected him to be at his flat, but when I got there the flat was empty. I went through the place and determined Ray hadn't been home last night. I was just about to call it in when the heavies arrived and I ended up here."

"And he gave no indication of going elsewhere?"

"No! He said he had things to do. I automatically assumed it was things like cleaning up. Doing the laundry, picking up some milk. That sort of thing."

"Yet you made sure you included milk in your groceries this morning."

Bodie frowned. Of course Ray had left late last night. "Figure of speech. Ray left after eleven last night; there wouldn't have been anywhere open."

Cowley merely pulled a small notebook out of his top pocket and noted something down, making quite a show of the act of retrieving and replacing the pad. "Is there anything else you can tell me?"

"Not at the moment. But if there's anything I can think of, I'll be sure to let you know." Bodie was pretty sure he'd kept the sarcasm out of his voice.

"You do that." And Cowley stood to take his leave.

"How long am I likely to remain here?"

"Until I say so, 3.7."

 _3.7_? Well things were looking more positive. "Well, if I'm to be here for a bit, would it be possible to get a pen and some paper? So I can start noting down anything that comes to me?"

Cowley nodded. "I'll see what I can do," and with that he left Bodie alone with his thoughts.

  


* * * * *

It had taken several hours before Murphy had appeared to release Bodie; in a toneless voice explaining that Bodie was now on suspension and that he, Murphy, was to escort him back to his flat. Bodie didn't really register anything at first, turning the problem over and over in his head, and only noticed how uncharacteristically silent Murphy had been on the drive back when the car pulled up on his road.

"So what kind of trick do you think the Cow is pulling now?" Bodie asked, turning to his friend.

Murphy frowned. "You what?"

"Well, it's obvious, isn't it? Cutting Ray and me loose like this. Though I wish he'd not keep his cards so close to his chest. It gets really frustrating when you're second guessing yourself all the time. 'Is this the way the Cow is expecting me to jump' and all that. Can get someone killed that way."

"Bodie," Murphy interjected, "What are you talking about?"

"This whole 'double agent' malarkey. It's so obviously a ruse. Ray wouldn't do a thing like that. So it's therefore part of something bigger."

Murphy shook his head. "I don't know, Bodie. It seems very real to me."

"And you really think that Ray would sell out CI5? For money?" Bodie was incredulous.

"Barry Martin." Murphy remarked as a response. "Look, all I know is that when the Cow found out three days ago, I've never seen him so angry. Then he spent the next forty-eight hours trying, and failing, to disprove the allegations. He felt sure enough about them to bring you both in this morning."

"There's no way Ray would sell out. Period."

"Alfred Cole. Even Nigel Dawson," Murphy continued. "I know it's hard to believe that of someone you trusted, but if I were you, I'd start getting used to it. Doyle was your partner. If you don't do act the right way now, you're never going to get the faint smell of corruption off you. Keep your head down, wait for Cowley to come round. And, if it does turn out that there is a grander plan at work, well you'll find out soon enough."

"You really do believe that, don't you? Some bloody friend you are." Bodie couldn't believe his ears.

"I don't believe it, I don't not believe it. All I know is that if it's a set-up it's a bloody good one. I was there when Patrick pulled up the logs and he was so worried that he got me to go along with him to tell the Cow. And if it is a set-up, then you'd do better not to spread it around, if you see what I mean."

"But what's your gut feeling?" Bodie pressed.

"Given the right inducement, _anyone_ will turn; you just need to find the handle. Money, power, threats against loved ones; they've all been used before. But I don't have to have a gut feeling about this. Doyle wasn't, isn't my partner. I don't have to be dragged in on all this. And you'd be a fool to blindly trust him. Either of them. If Doyle isn't a double agent, find the evidence to prove it."

"Bleeding fence-sitter.".

Murphy shrugged. "Better than jumping in with both feet and making the wrong call. Look, if I were you, I'd do as the Cow said. Stay down and out the way of any live investigations. He'll soon drag you back. God knows, we're always short-handed as it is."

Bodie nodded and got out of the car. "Ray's not, and never has been, a traitor, Murph," he warned.

"Watch your back," the other agent said in response and pulled off into the evening traffic.

Bodie made his way into his flat, not bothering to put any lights on and poured a large scotch by feel alone. Twenty-four hours ago Ray and he…

He took a large mouthful and felt it warm him down to his stomach. What was going on? If it was all a huge set-up, then why hadn't anything been said? Perhaps he was just waiting for the phone to ring. He glanced to the offending object, but it remained silent. Cowley would've have said something. He was the Controller of CI5. Somehow, if it was a big operation, he'd have got some kind of word to Bodie, not let him stay in the dark like this.

Unless he had only needed Ray. But that wouldn't make sense either. This sort of cloak and dagger game would only serve to rip his most successful team apart. It would be a hell of a sacrifice to make. There were easier ways of getting Ray out of the picture without resorting to widespread accusations of betrayal. For a start Cowley could've told Bodie about the plan.

Or was that just wishful thinking?

So what about the other side of the coin? Perhaps Ray really had done what Cowley had said. Scuppered investigations for goodness knows what reason. But that would only work if there was a reason behind it. And this was Ray. Why no message from him, some kind of explanation. Perhaps he was in trouble; perhaps he was trying to get information to him right now.

In a daze, Bodie went through the entire flat, searching for anything that could be construed as a message, ransacking every cupboard, turning over every drawer in hopes that the key to the entire mystery was sellotaped to the bottom of one. But there was nothing.

As there shouldn't be, Bodie conceded as he sat back down on his sofa, grabbing the entire bottle this time. His flat would have been professionally picked over this morning, after he had been taken in for questioning. As would Ray's. If had been any clue left in either flat, Cowley already had it.

And Ray would know that, would know that they would detain Bodie was well. One half of the mobile ghetto, it would be obvious that whatever one was suspected of, the other would have to work twice as hard to clear himself of, regardless of guilt. So Ray would be looking to get a message through in a different way. One of his snouts, perhaps. Assuming he could get near to one.

Bodie grabbed a pencil and paper and started to write down everyone Ray had ever referred to and where he might find them. It wasn't much, but it was a start. He would start in the morning, once he could ascertain what kind of watch the Cow had placed on him. And he was in no doubt that there would be surveillance. If Cowley still suspected him as well, then this little charade of 'you're a free man' would send him to join Ray. And if he didn't, then Cowley would still be interested in the moves Bodie would make in order to clear Ray's name.

He poured another, larger drink and settled back, trying to avoid the little voice at the back of his head asking 'what if Doyle had turned?' Murph had said that anyone could turn, you just needed to find the right button to push. Bodie knew that it could be true of himself, given the right circumstances. Of course they would have to be extreme. Couldn't see himself going against the Cow, unless of course, the Cow himself was proved to be corrupt.

 _Chance'd be a fine thing._.

But what would be Doyle's button? And had it been pushed? It wouldn't be mere money. Ray might be legendarily tight-fisted, but it was just that. A legend. He didn't care about it, that's all. Sex? Nah, the Golly got enough of that with him didn't he?

Bodie sat up straight. Blackmail? Had someone found out about their occasional fucks and was using that to pressurise Ray into betrayal? Christ. Cowley said this had been going on two years. No wonder Ray'd been so jumpy around him and the subject of sex in the recent past. What with that hanging over him. At least two years. Did the bastards have photos…?

He hurled the now-empty scotch glass at the wall where it shattered. Hands balled into fists, he jumped up, ready for action. He would hunt them down and…

No, that wouldn't work. He collapsed back down on the sofa. Ray would've spoken to him. He wouldn’t have caved in like that. And anyway, what would the mysterious 'they' have done, if their attempt didn't work? He and Ray weren't important enough to splash it over the papers and it matter. They had no family worth speaking of and the Cow knew. Unofficially of course, but he did know. Dismissal wouldn't be half as bad as the bawling out they would get for not noticing the surveillance. And neither were worth two years of passing information on, souring operations, getting agents killed…

Having deprived himself of the glass, Bodie took a pull straight from the bottle. No, it wasn't blackmail, or at least not of that sort. Perhaps they'd promised Ray a really rare motorcycle. He chuckled slightly then grimaced. That really wasn't funny. The whole point of blackmail was that the very act trapped you. The original price would be very different to the amount a victim could end up paying, just to cover up the subsequent betrayals. A very nasty business, all round.

It was getting late now, but Bodie didn't want to move. He had nothing to get up for in the morning, other than to pound the streets, something he'd never liked doing. And he was reluctant to go to bed. The memories surrounding that simple piece of furniture were confusing and bittersweet. He was already missing the bugger and it'd been barely twenty-four hours since he last set eyes on him. Damn Ray for vanishing like that and damn Cowley for detaining him without cause. And damn himself for feeling like this. Feeling betrayed and bereft, he curled up on the sofa and slept.

  


* * * * *

 **Monday 12th March**

Armed with the list of Doyle's informers and with little else to do, Bodie spent the next week or so trawling through the seedier side of London. As time went on without any contact, either from CI5 or Doyle, it became more likely that Doyle had been turned and had betrayed them. All Bodie could do was keep his head down and try to gather as much information as he could.

Fairly unsurprisingly, he had little luck in this second task; the few informers he did track down knew nothing. And several seemed to be untraceable. Doyle's little irregular army were a very different bunch to his own; being mostly small-time crooks and opportunists.

After another fruitless day searching the streets, Bodie finally decided to take the weight off his feet and relax a little. Finding himself in the depths of Whitechapel, he spied an old pub sign and made his way over to the rundown inn. He pushed the door open and made his way over to the bar.

The inside of the pub was as grubby and old as the outside, the air was thick with stale tobacco smoke, staining the tiling and ceiling dark brown. A bored barmaid, looking about as rundown as the pub itself, came over and took Bodie's order, pulling an insipid pint into a grubby glass before retiring to the other end of the bar and her newspaper.

Bodie propped himself up at the bar and took a sip of the uninspiring liquid, grimacing at the taste before glancing round the pub. It was quiet for a Saturday, but the pub was well off the beaten track. No doubt its regular punters were still at the betting shop or minding their market stalls, if any of them were actually gainfully employed around here.

There were one or two men sat at the haphazardly placed tables. A thin, scruffy man sat at a table just to Bodie's left nursing a whisky and staring into space. And a portly gentleman was sat at the back, florid face stuck in the sporting section of one of the local rags. As Bodie looked at him the man waved a hand to the barmaid and, with a cheerful "Liza, another of the same," received a pint of the same weak brew Bodie had ordered.

As Bodie glanced around, he spotted a man walking back through the door from the toilets. The man had his head down, staring at something in his hands, but as he finally looked up, Bodie immediately recognised him as one of the snouts on his list, Martin Reese.

Unfortunately the man seemed also to recognise Bodie and immediately turned tail, pocketing the object and vanishing back the way he had come. Bodie immediately gave chase, almost knocking down the barmaid in his hurry. He left her startled "Oy!" behind as he turned through the doorway and down the short, vile-smelling corridor and burst through the fire exit at the back.

The weak sunlight was still strong to his eyes as he adjusted from the gloom of the public bar. He glanced around and spotted Martin as he disappeared around the corner and he immediately gave chase.

Martin led him a merry chase through the back ways and alleyways of Whitechapel, but the gutter-rat was no match for the highly-trained CI5 agent on his heels. Bodie finally caught him in an alleyway between two boarded up shops, grabbing at his shirt collar and twisting his arm up his back, pinning him to the alleyway wall.

"Now then, Martin, is that any way to greet a mate?"

"Who the bloody 'ell are you?" Martin complained, voice slightly muffled by the wall.

"Oh, you know me, Martin. I sure as hell know you."

"'Ow can I tell 'oo you are if I can't see your face, eh? Let up, Mister."

Bodie eased off slightly, letting go of the man's wrist, but not letting go of the shirt collar. Martin turned round and squinted at Bodie. Then a burst of minted halitosis assailed his nostrils as the man chuckled. "Copper. Yeah, I do know you. Friends with that bugger Doyle, right?"

"That's right. And I'm looking for him."

"Ah, now there's a man who's done alright for 'isself. But seriously copper, I don't know nothin'." Martin started to struggle in Bodie's grip and so Bodie leaned his weight forward, effectively pinning the smaller man against the wall.

"Of course, I could just nick you. I'm quite sure I'd find something usefully incriminating in your pockets. Coke, may be? Even some H, perhaps?" Bodie started to dip his free hand into Martin's pocket. "But I'm sure you wouldn't like that. Not our type of cell, where a man's solicitor might take days or weeks to find him? No?" His hand stilled as Martin shook his head, vehemently. "Okay, now let us start again. What do you mean 'done all right?' Have you seen him recently?"

Martin slumped slightly in defeat. "Nah, not me. Sir Stephen wouldn't 'ave the likes of me 'anging round 'is place."

Bodie pushed him harder into the wall. "But you know something."

"Not exactly. Tiny Johnson is 'oo's bin seein' Mr. Doyle. Tiny's been doing a spot of chauffeuring for 'is Lordship. Ferryin' this 'n' that all over the place. 'twas 'im that tole me of Mr. Doyle's change of career. Rather surprised both me and Tiny, that did. What with Mr. Doyle being such a conscientious copper."

"What was Doyle doing?"

"Tiny din't say. But 'e did say that Mr. Doyle was well in there. So 'im and Sir Stephen must be good pals, eh?"

"And where is he?"

"Where 'e is now, I don't rightly know, not being there with him." Martin chuckled, but hurriedly carried on as Bodie pushed again. "Tiny saw 'im down at Sir Stephen's place in Surrey. Caxted 'All. Beautiful 'ouse it is. Not that I've 'ad a chance to have a look see, of course. Parts of the interior are rumoured to have been designed by Owen Jones hisself. Fancy that, eh?"

"Yeah, yeah. Caxted Hall, you say? Thank you."

Bodie let go and Martin immediately scarpered off, vanishing back into the woodwork from whence he came. Bodie himself walked slowly out of the alley, hands in his pockets, thinking furiously. So Doyle could, finally, be run to ground. He was torn between letting Cowley know. After all, if Doyle was rotten then he would definitely need back-up. But, on the other hand, if Doyle was innocent, then setting the dogs on him now would be the last thing he needed. Shaking his head, he turned to wander back to the tube and home, when a hand on his shoulder arrested his progress.

Whipping immediately around, Bodie too late recognised the man standing behind him; pulling his punch as much as he was able, Bodie still managed to knock him to the ground. Immediately he put out a hand to pull the other man back to his feet and started to curse. "You stupid bugger, Davids. I could've killed you if I'd been a split second slower in recognising your weasely face."

"I thing you broke my nobe," Davids complained, prodding at the injured appendage cautiously and wincing.

"Here," Bodie dragged out an almost-clean handkerchief to staunch the slow flow of blood. "I thought you were meant to be merely observing me from a distance. Why the tough act?"

"Didb't realise you'd seeb me. Ouch. Anyway, The Cow wabts to see you prondo."

"He's at the office?"

"No, aroubd the corber, waitig for you."

 _Damn,_ Bodie thought as he left the unfortunate Davids behind and jogged around the corner to spot the blue Granada that Cowley currently favoured.

"3.7," Cowley snapped as Bodie peered in the window. "Get in please, no lollygagging around."

"Where are we off to?" Bodie asked as he settled in the front passenger seat and turned round to address his boss. Immediately the dour-faced Stanley, Cowley's driver for the week, got the car underway.

" _I'm_ off to Surrey. Thanks to you, I'm now running late. I'll drop you off as soon as you've finished so you better be quick if you don't want to walk all the way back. Now, what the hell were you doing? May I remind you, you're still on suspension? You were told to stay well away from any live investigations."

"Can't a man go to a pub in peace?" Bodie asked innocently.

"Don't play with me, boy. It's fairly obvious you've been tracking down any and all of Doyle's informants you can find. Source, please."

Bodie grumbled, but drew the list from his pocket and handed it over to Cowley.

Cowley scanned through it, noting each of the names. "Did you get anywhere with it?"

"Yeah, some. Martin Reese, a rather greasy individual, forwarded a rumour that Doyle was hiding out at Sir Stephen Somebody's place. Caxted Hall, I think."

"Caxted Hall?" Cowley appeared visibly surprised. "How reliable is that?"

Bodie shrugged. "I really couldn't say, to be honest. Reese appeared to be on the level, but it wasn't first hand. Why?"

"Caxted Hall is where we were heading off to now. Trouble has been brewing down there for a couple of weeks. We believe a big shipment of armaments was delivered there two days ago."

"Reese said that Tiny Johnson had been 'chauffeuring' all around the place. Sounds like that's what he's been chauffeuring."

"Indeed. You better step on it, Stanley. We would do well to get down there as soon as possible."

As Stanley eased the car across the river, Bodie felt it safe to question Cowley a little more. "So who is this Sir Stephen then?"

"Sir Stephen Chase. Once owner of one the country's largest military hardware manufacturers. He's been gradually moving into the more modern methods of killing people - chemical and biological warfare. All hush, hush of course. Though our own Government has been quite the funder of his activities, one way or another. Interestingly, he's also an international jet-setting glamour photographer."

"Now that's a little bit different to his day job," Bodie drawled.

"Quite. But it's a good cover for what we suspect is also a little bit of illegal gun-running."

Bodie chuckled. "I wonder which side of the business Doyle is on. I could just see him puckering up for the cameras."

Cowley just glared at Bodie and Bodie, wisely, shut up.

  


* * * * *

By the time Bodie, Cowley and Stanley had made it to Caxted Hall, that remote corner of Merrie England more resembled a war zone. A helicopter was parked on the lawns behind the house and CI5 agents had it under fire. Even as Bodie spilled out of the car, immediately running round the other side to take cover, the rotors on the helicopter started up, flattening the grass beneath it with the displacement of the air. A cry, several yards ahead and to the right, had Bodie take off immediately towards it, running in a low crouch to avoid being hit by one of the bullets whizzing between the two sides. Bodie swore he could hear Cowley above the noise of the battle, bellowing for him to not be a fool and come back, but whomever it was up there who had cried out sounded as if he needed the back-up and only Bodie was near enough and good enough to provide it.

Bodie drew level with the small dug-out and peered in; it was Murphy. A stray bullet had clipped his shoulder and he was having problems returning fire. Bodie immediately shoved him over, taking possession of the rifle and, when Murphy made to argue, hissed "take care of yourself," before looking over the top of the inadequate cover and assessing the situation. Only two of the opposition were still returning fire, pinned down and unable to reach the cover of the helicopter. Bodie focussed on them, fixing their position before covering it with a hail of fire. The range was long and Bodie despaired of actually hitting them at this distance, but he eventually managed it, bringing both of them down, even as the helicopter started to rise from the ground.

Bodie immediately fixed on its position, joining the other agents in returning fire at the two shooting from the sides of the chopper. It was tight, the range was even longer this time, but as the helicopter rose higher in the air and started to swing round, a lucky shot got through, appearing to pierce the fuel tank beneath and causing the craft to immediately burst into a fireball, raining fiery debris on the ground below.

Bodie cried out, partly in surprise and partly in a heady rush of adrenalin. "My God! Look at that! That's the sort of thing that only ever happens in films!"

Then as a kind of peace started to descend on the ravaged estate, he belatedly remembered Murphy.

Murphy was still conscious, but was sporting a pinched, white look that Bodie could sympathise with. "How is it?"

"Hurts," grunted Murphy, pressing down hard on the freely-bleeding wound. "Feels like the bullet is still in there, but I don't think anything is broken."

"Well, come on then, let's see if we can get you patched up and see what the Cow has to say."

Cowley obviously had plenty to say as Bodie and Murphy approached, Bodie half-supporting Murphy in his pain. He was lecturing a hapless Anson on the meaning of "discreet" as they drew within earshot and Cowley immediately turned on Bodie.

"I told you to stay out of this, Bodie."

"Murphy was taken out of action," Bodie started to argue. "Someone had to do something."

"That's as may be, but I distinctly remember warning you not to get involved in any live investigations while you were on suspension." He cast an eye over the injured agent. "Och, go get that seen to, 6.2, before you bleed all over the car."

Murph nodded and took himself off to the ambulance that had just arrived on the scene.

"Apart from Grayson, we think; that is the only other injury. On our side."

"What happened to Grayson, sir?"

"Caught whilst on surveillance. We think he was executed."

"Damn."

"He was able to give some information before he was captured, however. He positively identified two of the men. One was Sir Stephen."

"And the other?" Bodie enquired, though the sinking sensation in his gut was proof enough he already knew what Cowley was going to say.

Cowley looked beyond Bodie, out towards the clean-up which was just starting. "It was Doyle."

  


* * * * *

 **Tuesday 13th March**

Next morning, Bodie arrived early at Headquarters, as summoned by Cowley. Cowley wasted no time, sliding Bodie's ID across the table.

"In the circumstances, you're re-instated as of now."

"You've concluded your investigation?"

"Not quite, but I'm content. And I need all my men."

Bodie nodded. The idea of still being under suspicion for treason was unpalatable, but at least he would be working.

"Is there any more news on the incident yesterday, sir?"

"Incident? Damn disaster, that's what it was. The general public don't generally appreciate their stately homes being blown up. Especially when it's due to some fool mistake like yesterday. And I don't either."

"Mistake?"

"Grayson getting in the way. The man should've stayed out of sight better."

"Well, he paid a heavy price for it."

"Aye, that is true." Cowley sighed and rubbed his face. Then he reached into one of his drawers and pulled out a bottle and two glasses. He added a generous measure of whisky to each glass before putting the bottle away and handing one of the glasses to Bodie.

Bodie accepted the glass and took a generous sip of the liquor before speaking. "And it's all a bit funny, isn't it? We'd heard about the shipment two days ago, but we'd not heard anything about them moving out. But they were definitely primed and ready to do so. Even if Grayson hadn't been spotted, I doubt that would've stopped the fire fight yesterday."

Cowley nodded ruefully. "I know, Bodie."

"How did we find out about the shipment?"

"Special Branch. And there's no point us chasing it there. It will only turn out to be some constable with a rumour from an informant, as usual."

"An informant like Martin Reese, perhaps?"

"Aye, good thinking. You better check that out. See who else he might have told."

Bodie nodded. "I'll get on to it. What about Tiny Johnson?"

"Killed in the crossfire, unfortunately. So there's no way of tracing that back. Martin Reese is our best bet, if you can find him."

"You think he might disappear?"

"It's a possibility, at least. Everyone else seems to be a dead end. We can't rule it out."

"Everyone else, meaning Doyle."

Cowley drained his glass. "And Stephen Chase. The three in the helicopter have been identified as Sir Stephen, his pilot Tim Eames and Ray Doyle. It was rigged to explode on take off."

"So, not such a lucky shot then?"

"No. Whoever Doyle's new masters were, they obviously weren’t taking any chances. We've positive IDs on the first two, but Doyle was sitting on the device when it went off. There's precious little left to identify."

"So the body might not be his?"

"Evidence says it is. Doyle's gun and R/T were recovered at the scene. And we're sure the gun was used to kill Grayson."

"Damn." Bodie clenched his fists. "Ray didn't want Grayson to ID him."

"Yes. I'm sorry, Bodie."

Bodie shrugged. The smoke from the exploding helicopter still tasted of bitter defeat at the back of his throat. "The bastard had it coming, didn't he? And it's a beautiful piece of irony, the betrayer betrayed. I just hope it was worth it."

  


* * * * *

 **Thursday 31st May**

Liverpool hadn’t really changed much in the two decades since Bodie had last seen the place, it was still as dreary and run-down as he remembered. Especially here, round the docks. Even more so, perhaps. The pub he had finally fetched up in, avoiding wasting too much shoe leather and the ever-present Northern drizzle, certainly had seen better days. Come to think of it, the scotch in his hand and the rather stale cheese rolls he had charmed out of the barmaid earlier, they'd obviously seen better days as well.

He didn’t even really know why he was here, except that while Cowley’s ‘friend’ had him cooling his heels, there really wasn't anything else to do.

Damned Cowley. In the ten weeks since he'd been back on the squad, and after failing to run Martin Reese to ground, Bodie had mostly been on solo milk runs - 'guard this minor diplomat here', 'pick up this package there' - and it was wearing thin. It wasn't even as if Bodie resented the fact the Cow couldn't trust him with anything more. That was a given, in the circumstances. But without the satisfaction of a hard-won chase and far too much time in which to avoid thinking, Bodie was fairly sure he was even closer to insane than usual.

It was evident that the rest of the squad thought the same. While tentative 'welcome backs' had been extended when The Cow had seen fit to grant back Bodie's armoury and ID, that hand of friendship had been very tentative indeed once the other agents had realised what kind of black mood they were most likely to encounter.

Last week's victim had been the vending machine in the tiny break room. In its failure to come up with either his money back or the brown liquid purporting to be tea, the machine had lost most of its cheery plastic front. And it was highly unlikely that the dispensing nozzle would ever be the same again.

No, Bodie really couldn't blame them for steering clear. Even if it did mean that he spent more time in his own company. But that wasn't so bad, to be honest. Now that he was on his own there was no negotiation for every bit of pleasure. He didn't have to go running if the weather was bad, he could stay in and watch the gogglebox. Or go out and pick up one of the thousands of willing and single birds that inhabited the city. Not that there had been many of those, recently. But there had been a lot of running.

Bodie frowned. Well, there was always a period of transition when work patterns changed. He would just have to get re-used to working alone – no inconvenient interruptions when writing reports, no distracting buzz-saw snore on long obbos, no regaling of tall tales in order to keep each other awake…

Bodie snapped off that thought. It would just be like the Cow to saddle him with another no-hoper partner just as the idea of none was growing on him.

He swigged up the whisky and ordered another. No reason not to get drunk at the moment. General Tarporley had made it clear that no answer would be forthcoming today and therefore Bodie better pay for another night at the dreadful bed and breakfast and find something else to do as he couldn't have layabouts generally mucking up the place.

Bloody Cowley, he thought again. Why he even needed an agent up here, picking up some missive from such a pompous ass like the General, Bodie couldn't think. Unless the Cow was trying to drive Bodie to either suicide or murder. That'd prove a point then, wouldn’t it? If Bodie turned out like…

Well, turned out like Bodie, really. He'd done enough killing for the scantiest of reasons back in Africa. Not that it seemed so at the time.

The place was starting to fill up now, Dock workers just off shift coming in to waste their meagre pay packets before staggering home to beat up their wives and kids. Same old, same old. It never changed really. Bodie merited barely a glance, he knew how to fit in places like this.

But that man over there, with his back to him at the other end of the bar, obviously didn't. His challengers were almost clones of each other, tall, heavy and muscled. At just above average height and thin, the man was instantly set apart from them in his almost emaciated appearance.

 _I wonder what he was banged up for?_ Bodie thought dispassionately as he took in the severe crew-cut of the man's bleached-blond hair. No tattoos were visible on the man's hairless forearms as he gesticulated at the other men, but the pale blue shirt he was wearing, sleeves rolled up to the elbow, would hide a multitude of sins.

 _Whatever it was, I doubt it was for GBH,_ Bodie inwardly chuckled, glad for a diversion, but also scoping out his own quick exit should the argument get physical. It wouldn't do his current standing with Cowley any good to be caught up in a pub brawl when he was supposed to be keeping his head down here.

The argument was getting more heated. From the little Bodie could hear, it seemed that the man with the blond crew-cut was being derided for drinking in a docker's pub while under suspicion of being a poof. Normal bully-boy tactics from the three brick-shithouse-built dock workers spoiling for a fight and not having the wit to pick on someone a little closer to their own weight-class if they wanted the bout to last more than two seconds.

Then Blondy shifted his weight, back muscles rippling under his shirt and Bodie rose without thinking, moving to the right and behind, not-so-coincidentally blocking off the nearest entrance to the bar in his silent approach.

 _Doyle's really going to need some help here…_

The thought flickered in his mind unbidden and Bodie realised he'd moved to back up his partner, as he would've done any day of the week, before. But his partner was gone. Had betrayed the squad, had betrayed _him_ , and had paid the ultimate price.

Grief stabbed through him, shocking in its intensity. Bodie turned, stumbling blindly through the door to his right and out into the late afternoon sunshine. An alleyway to the left afforded at least a small degree of privacy and he ran towards it, before falling to his knees, throwing up his meagre lunch. The whisky burned at his throat and he retched again, heaving in great gulps of air as he shook uncontrollably.

Finally after some time, the heaving and shaking ceased and Bodie sat back on his haunches, wiping his face and mouth with a dodgy service station serviette he had found stuffed in one pocket.

Cowley was right not to trust him, but not for any suspicion of selling-out. He'd lost his edge, his nerves gone like Macklin. He was no good to the squad like this, falling apart at the vaguest hint of a physical altercation.

It was time he had done with it. Take up something a little less nerve-wracking. Something where you didn't have to rely on a partner to watch your back, something that just him and himself alone. Other people were a liability, he'd learned that lesson long ago, and it was his own failure that he had let Doyle in as far as he had. No. Never let anyone close enough to twist that knife. That was the true secret of survival.

Bodie stood, braced against the brick wall for a moment to regain his balance. First things first; get the old duffer to cough up the promised documents. Then head back to London to hand them over, along with his own resignation letter.

Purpose set at last, he strode out of the alley and down the road.


	2. Part Two

_The mirror on my wall  
Casts an image dark and small  
But I'm not sure at all it's my reflection.  
I am blinded by the light, of God and truth and right  
And I wander in the night without direction.  
 **Flowers Never Bend with the Rainfall - Simon and Garfunkel**_

 **Sunday 17th June**

When Elizabeth Walsh answered the summons of the doorbell, she knew who was calling on her on such a beautiful summer's day. George Cowley had impeccable enough manners to announce beforehand his desire to call on her. What she didn't quite expect was the changes the intervening time since she last set eyes on him had wrought. George Cowley looked old.

So she ignored the tea already brewing in the pot as firmly as she ignored the polite chit-chat already nestling on her tongue. Instead she installed her visitor in one of her comfortable armchairs with a fine single malt and waited until the latter was a good halfway down before breaking the silence.

"George," she began. "What's wrong?"

Cowley didn't answer at first, instead watching the amber liquid swirl in the cut crystal glass. Finally he sighed and looked up and Elizabeth, again, was secretly shocked.

"You know, my dear Elizabeth, for once I have no clue where to begin."

"Well, then," she replied, "if you have a mind to tell me, why don't you start at the beginning?"

George nodded, but remained silent for a few more minutes, as if marshalling his thoughts. "You remember the help you gave me over the Dawson affair?"

"Yes?"

"Well, one of the recommendations I made to the Minister at the time was a purge of all other at risk personnel. He didn't think the plan had merit. He deemed it too costly and not politically viable. But I thought it was the only way. So, to that end, I started the job within the sphere I control."

"CI5."

Cowley nodded. "I wasn't expecting much. Except one or two operations had gone sour in the past few months. I had, perhaps naively, assumed they weren't related. But they were. A routine audit of accesses to our new database threw up a surprising correlation. We did a little more investigating and there was no doubt. One of my own was selling information on."

"You were surprised?"

"Yes. Very. Raymond Doyle, one half of my best team, was the mole. I mounted an op, but he escaped before we could bring him in."

"So where is he now?"

"Dead. Or, at least, I thought so. There had been one or two tentative sightings after his death, but nothing conclusive. But his partner attempted to resign a few weeks ago. I had categorised him as on long-term sick leave. And now he's vanished."

"You think he's part of it?"

Cowley shrugged. "I would have thought of Doyle as being the last man on earth to be part of this. Bodie a close second. Now I'm not sure."

"What does logic tell you?"

Cowley closed his eyes for a few seconds, deep in thought. "Bodie was surprised as anyone that Doyle had been turned. I saw him when Doyle was killed; he felt as betrayed by all this as I had. I saw his face. He'd have to be a damn good actor to have been faking that. No. Logic dictates that Bodie is innocent in all this."

"Bodie. I've met him, haven't I? He's that charming young psychopath who put a bullet in my lawn. He does seem very loyal to you. But the bond of loyalty can be very fragile."

"Aye, very true. And I've had my boys out on the front line where those bonds can and do break. Bodie, now Bodie I could understand. If he were to feel betrayed by me, then there's no telling what he would do. But Doyle? That's a whole different kettle of fish. And it is one that is baffling me most."

"So tell me."

"Doyle was, is, an idealist. His loyalty is to a cause, not necessarily to an individual. I could leave him to hang a million times over and, if the cause behind it was just, then he would take it. Therefore to break that loyalty would mean that the cause is no longer something he felt he could be part of. CI5 hadn't changed, so Doyle had. I don't know. It's the information that was sold. An eclectic mix, all. There's not a single higher cause among them and, indeed, the failure of those operations, in the main, could only benefit the criminals and other lowlifes. How could such a man, a man who, as a young copper, brought his own corrupt bosses to justice, betray me with corruption?"

"Not corruption then. Blackmail?"

"No, nothing."

"You're very certain."

"I'd would know, damn it."

"What aren't you telling me, George?"

"It's hardly pertinent."

"Which means it is. Tell me if you really want my help."

Cowley stood, putting his empty glass on the table. "You have to remember that CI5 partnerships aren't your run of the mill teamings. These boys are matched to compliment each other, support each other in everything they might encounter."

"That sounds not unlike a marriage, George."

"Aye, that's the problem."

"Ah."

Cowley stopped pacing. "But I can hardly see why that is the issue,"

"A hero of this country who was also a good friend of mine committed suicide over just that issue."

Cowley nodded regretfully. "But these are different circumstances."

"In what way are they different?"

"For a start, I knew about it."

"And that makes a difference?"

"Because if that was the problem, Doyle would've resigned rather than risk exposure and damage to CI5."

"Okay, we'll leave blackmail as a motive aside for a moment. Money then?"

"We've been through Doyle's finances. We've not seen any evidence of any unexpected deposits."

"There's more than one way to cover up financial dealings."

"Very true. I've had CI5's accountants going over every piece of documentation recovered and they've found nothing so far. But I agree it's not conclusive. And it's not Doyle." Cowley slammed a fist into open palm. "None of this makes any sense. Doyle, at least the Doyle I knew, wouldn't consciously betray CI5 for anything. Not money, not under threat, not because he had become disillusioned. Not with what has been betrayed."

"And your conclusion?"

"The 'Doyle' I knew was just an act. The idealist never did exist, he was merely a cover for a despicable, immoral sociopath. Of course, if I'd known, I'd've been able to utilise that. But he completely fooled me. That's what hurts."

"So that's it? It's just a case of wounded pride?"

Cowley finished off his whisky and frowned. "No. It's information and the lack of it. Two years Doyle had been leaking CI5's secrets, at the very least. That's as far back as our database goes and the old file system didn't have a robust audit trail. That's why we got someone in to develop the new computerised system in the first place. It's certainly proven its worth already.

"But we won't be able to prove how far back this goes. When was Doyle turned and how? If we can find that out, perhaps we can find out by whom. Certainly the current evidence so far does not point to any particular group. And, in fact, rules out many. For all we know, he was recruited long before he became a policeman. In fact, the cover indicates a long time has to have passed in order for Doyle to assimilate his cover story. Yet all background checks so far haven't been able to pull up any kind of contact with known agencies."

Elizabeth nodded, her mind already cataloguing and filing the information flows and apparent missing data, even as she refilled Cowley's glass.

"And of course," Cowley continued, "Why did it take two years to discover this, when a basic routine check pulled the pattern out straight away?"

"Something is very strange about this, I agree. There's a lot of questions still unanswered."

Cowley obviously picked up on her speculative tone of voice, as his tone of voice changed also. "You know, I could do with you right now. Seems to me you could get this case sorted out in no time."

"Oh, I doubt that, George," Elizabeth smiled. But the case was most definitely intriguing and there was a very distinct whiff of something very nasty somewhere hidden in all this.

"Well, may be not immediately. But you could solve it. How do you feel about helping me out?"

Elizabeth thought for a moment. Now she was retired, her biggest daily challenge was the Times Crossword. And besides, she'd had quite a bit of fun last time. She smiled back at Cowley. "I thought you'd never ask."

  
* * * * *

 **Monday 26th June**

The sun was hot overhead and barely a breeze stirred the dust to bring relief to the inhabitants of the city. Cairo was a hell of a place to take a holiday in June. Indeed, it was much better avoided at all in the summer months. But Bodie wasn't here on holiday. He'd heard a whisper, a mere breath on the wind, and so had been led here to the largest city in Africa.

Bodie wandered in the old town on the Eastern banks, trying place after place, contact after contact, though none so far had given any further clue. He was moderately sure that Cowley knew he had left the country. Hell, he knew for certain that he'd been continually under surveillance since he had handed in his resignation a month earlier.

Yeah, Cowley had to know he'd skipped the country, but Bodie was as sure the canny old goat didn't know where he currently was or why. Come to think of it, Bodie himself wasn't completely sure why, save that through a network of contacts, old friends and enemies alike, he'd heard a rumour that Ray Doyle was still alive. He was here to prove that rumour true or false, if he could. If false, he hoped to lay the ghost of his former partner to rest once and for all. If true, well. He would cross that bridge when he came to it.

Mopping the sweat from his brow, Bodie finally paused in front of a tavern, at once familiar; the owner had once called Bodie ‘family' and held a three day party in his honour after saving him from a fate worse than death. If anyone was likely to know what was going on, it was Dai Jones. He pushed his way into the dimly lit and dusty interior, his eyes taking some time to adjust as his gaze swept the place, assessing potential threats, potential problems, potential escape routes before he finally settled, back against a pillar, looking out onto the street, but enough awareness of the bar behind him, if necessary.

The tavern was busy, and it was several minutes before he was approached. The waitress was young, very young, yet her eyes told of experience well beyond her years. He ordered beer and asked for Dai by name. She promised to send him over when he returned and Bodie sat back to wait.

He gazed out onto the street, taking stock of the comings and goings of the place. A market, common enough in the area, with stallholders haggling with the locals and with tourists that had strayed off the beaten path, always looking for their mark, always looking for their next easy buck.

His neck prickled, someone was watching him. The feeling became more urgent, his instincts screaming at him to turn around.

As he did so, he immediately knew he was too late.

An oh-so familiar breath ghosted across the back of his neck carrying with it that familiar voice to his ear, just as the familiar touch of cold metal caressed his ribs.

"Hello, Sunshine."

Bodie froze for a second, his aborted attempt to move stifled by a quick jab in the side with the revolver.

"Now, now," the other man breathed in his ear, "no need for that, after all, we're all friends here."

Bodie slowly put his empty hands on the table, and took a deep breath, the better to speak the truth.

"Hello, Doyle."

"Nice to know you still recognise me," Doyle's voice said and Bodie had to fight an uncontrollable urge to turn around. While the cold steel of the revolver never left its position, Ray's other hand quickly divested Bodie of his weapons: a gun of course, plus a second, and two concealed knives. "Anything else you wish to declare?" Doyle asked, amused.

Bodie shook his head and Doyle moved the gun round to nestle in the small of Bodie's back. "Good. Let's go somewhere more private."

'Somewhere more private' turned out to be a filthy, out-of-the way one-room hovel, round the back of the tavern. There were few furnishings, a small iron bedstead, a chair and a cracked bowl for holding water. Doyle made short work of securing Bodie to the former, armed and dangerous winning out against unarmed and bewildered. Then Doyle sat on the chair opposite, gun dangling from one hand, casual, but obviously wary; a bottle of cheap whisky in the other and Bodie finally got a good look at the man he used to call 'friend'.

Doyle was changed too much in five months for it to be natural. He wore the persona of soft American tourist well, loud shirt clashing with the sunburn and both clashing with the ginger hair. An obvious dangling camera that might, or might not, be exactly what it seemed hung round his neck.

Doyle took a long pull of the scotch then set the bottle down. "Well, I can't say it's a pleasure, Bodie," he said. "But it is certainly a surprise. It's been a long time. I was starting to think I'd been given up for dead."

The voice was flat, unemotional, and Bodie cursed himself for the thousandth time for holding on to a spark of hope that everything had not been as it seemed. That spark had caused him to give up without a fight to the one person he should have resisted.

With effort, he matched Doyle's tone. "Well, the explosion was enough to convince Cowley, that's true. But me? Your demise was a little too convenient. So I asked around."

Doyle raised an eyebrow. "Well, I always said you always were a suspicious sod. What are you doing here, Bodie?"

"Came to see you, didn't I?"

"To catch up on old times? A little tripping down memory lane?"

Bodie closed his eyes, unwilling to see the other man's face. "Something like that, yeah. Why, Doyle? Why?"

"Why what?" Doyle asked.

  
"Why did you betray us? Betray me?"

"Why? Why not?"

"I don't believe you, Ray."

"You don't believe any of it. You never did, did you?" Doyle sneered. "A man so unwilling to trust anyone except himself. And you trusted me over the evidence of your own eyes."

And that was so true it hurt. For all Bodie seemed to live by the ideal of trusting no-one, breaking that rule with Doyle had been pathetically easy.

"How could I? For years I trusted you to guard my back. And you did. Every day until the day you stuck a knife in it."

"Oh come on. It wasn't that bad."

"That bad? Of course it was that 'bad'. Your betrayals directly caused the deaths of many good men and women. The Ray Doyle I knew would never have done such a thing."

A flicker of something passed across Doyle's face. But it was gone before Bodie could put a name to it. Then Doyle laughed, an unpleasant sound, and the fear curled in Bodie's gut. "The Ray Doyle you 'knew' never existed, sweetheart. For your information, I didn't betray anyone. If anything, CI5 betrayed me."

"Oh, really? And just what do you mean by that?"

"I, I… It's hard to explain at the moment. But, trust me, all will be revealed in time."

"Trust you? Look where that got me last time," Bodie shot back, the bitterness of the last few months colouring his every thought.

Doyle half-turned away in silence.

Bodie carried on. "The thing is, I understand. Caught between two differing loyalties, trying to do the best you could to stop it all unravelling. Was it blackmail or just an offer you couldn't refuse? How long, Doyle? How long?"

But nothing but silence came back from the hunched figure standing in the middle of the poorly lit room.

It needled at Bodie. Got under his skin. "Or have I got it wrong? Information is easy. You don't even have to get blood on your hands. I know you're a ruthless killer when you want to be. Did you take it up close and personal? And what about me, eh? I'm a hell of a loose end to leave, sunshine..."

"It was the job, Bodie. I was just doing the job I had been paid to do."

Bodie shook his head at Doyle's callousness. "And was the sex just you doing your job as well?"

A sigh, then and Doyle took another long pull of the scotch before speaking. "Of course. It's not as if we ever let fickle things, like emotions, enter in to it. Sex is only ever a way of getting what you want, whether it's compliance or unconsciousness. And I was damn good at it." He turned back, his voice hardening, " Of course, there are other ways of achieving the same thing, especially if you don't need to be on civil terms with your partner in the morning."

He raised his right arm, gun barrel pointing straight at Bodie. "I'm afraid to say, sunshine, you are in the way. I've a little surprise present for CI5 and I can't have you blundering about spoiling it, especially after I've taken so long in wrapping it up. Sorry."

And Bodie could only watch as, at that, Doyle pulled the trigger.

  
* * * * *

An undefined amount of time later Bodie awoke, and that was surprising in itself.

Movement brought both feelings of nausea and freedom. The ropes tying him to the bed were gone, as was Doyle. In fact there wasn't much left in the little room. Not that there was much to start with.

Bodie was as confused as he was sick. What point was there in luring him out in to Africa only to drug him and leave him? And Bodie was certain that was exactly what Doyle had done. It was still light outside, or light again, Bodie wasn't entirely sure how long he'd spent unconscious. What kind of game was Doyle playing?

Swinging his legs up and off the bed, his foot knocked against something hard and metallic. The camera, seemingly abandoned, yet beckoned with deliberate invitation, gilt-edged, hand-scripted, no-need-to-RSVP. A million shared memories, yet that one did not need to be retrieved from long-term storage. The promises of a happier time had been lingered over, even as they seemed ground into dust. Except one.

It seemed a nice time of year for a Nile cruise.

  
* * * * *

 **Monday 9th July**

Elizabeth had started her latest challenge in the comfort of her own home. There was precious little to go on, save a lot of questions, and she started to despair that the matter would ever be solved to George's satisfaction. Ray Doyle's records were pored over word by word. But while his life was rather ambiguous for such a once trusted man, it could hardly be more transparent. Facing the divorce of his parents, and the subsequent death of his mother, in his early teens had sent the young Ray Doyle into a spiral of crime and violence until he had been rescued by a kindly Inspector's widow. Set back on the path of righteousness, Ray worked in a local shop, gaining the qualifications he needed to enter the police force. Constable, Detective Constable and then CI5. Nothing there to hint of a contact that had started him on the road to high treason.

So Elizabeth waited and, in the meantime, compiled a complete profile of the man that had caused George Cowley to look old.

The beginning of July was heralded by storms and, as their discharging fury changed the summer, so did a new piece of the jigsaw puzzle, landing on Cowley's desk innocuously on the Monday morning. Now armed with something a little more tangible than mere shadows and rumour, Cowley had Elizabeth driven straight over to CI5 Headquarters and installed into her own small office, rather hastily acquired. And this was where she was, a week later, when the Controller of CI5 came to call.

Cowley sat in the rather uncomfortable chair provided for guests and got straight to the point. "So what have you got for me on the name Doyle so thoughtfully provided us with?"

"Sir Henry Beech, noted industrialist." Elizabeth nodded towards the small postcard, the postmark on the envelope plainly showing its origins in Egypt. "He made his money originally in construction of chemical plants back in the late fifties. He then started investing in the companies themselves. And his new major preoccupation is computing. He's added a couple of small microchip companies to his portfolio in the last couple of years."

She handed Cowley the file and he flicked through it.

"I've heard of him, of course. Do we have anything between Doyle and Sir Henry? Aside from the postcard, that is?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "On the face of it, there's no known connection between Doyle and Beech. But if you throw Sir Stephen Chase into the mix, then you start to see the threads. We have a positive ID of Doyle at Caxted Hall, it is certain now that he escaped the fire fight. But we don't know how. The interesting part is that there was a scribbled note from Beech found amongst Sir Stephen's papers. Part of it was missing, and it is certain it should have been destroyed. It talks about a package and Sir Stephen taking charge of it, usual channels. It was dated two weeks before the raid."

"The arms?"

"Purely conjecture at this time; but it's certain that whatever Sir Stephen and Ray Doyle were mixed up in, Sir Henry was also."

"So we can add gun-running to go with his more legitimate interests. What still baffles me is why did Doyle send us this name and nothing else? Or at all, for that matter. And why did that note arrive less than three days after the man was murdered?"

Elizabeth shrugged. "I have no idea. And if you factor in Sir Henry having been shot less than a day after arriving back from the Far East, where he had been for six weeks, it gets even more baffling. If Doyle is behind the assassination, how did he know? Did he do the shooting himself or does he have someone acting for him? Moreover, why? With both Sir Henry Beech and Sir Stephen Chase dead, I suspect you are going to need to ask Doyle that directly."

"Hmph." George Cowley looked frustrated. "Anything more, or are we at the end of our list of conundrums?"

"It's just a query, really. How did Doyle get access to the protected files?"

"Again, unknown. There's no record of him ever being assigned the access he had, except that he definitely did have those accesses when we pulled up his profile."

"That's strange."

"Aye, it is. But Agnes did say it could just be an error, either in the recording or the assignment."

"Agnes?"

"She was the girl in charge of the database. Agnes Penfold was her name. She left here a couple of months ago. She was to help install the hardware and then spend time on training our agents to use it. Once everyone was adequately trained, she passed on her expertise to one of our own."

"A heavy responsibility," Elizabeth remarked, frowning.

"She came highly recommended."

"You spoke to her at the time?"

"Yes, but she didn't know anything. She couldn't see how this could've happened."

"Hmm. I'd still like to talk to her again. May be she can shed some more light over this."

Cowley nodded. "You could be right." He picked up the receiver of the phone on Elizabeth's desk, dialling an internal number from memory. "Susan? Yes. Can you find me the current address of one of our ex-staff... Agnes Penfold… Yes, the computer girl… No, call me straight back." He put the phone down again and turned back to Elizabeth. "I'll let you know as soon as Susan gets the details to me."

Elizabeth poured another glass of whisky for both of them and sat back in her chair. "How did your meeting with the Home Secretary go?"

"Not too good. He's been jumpy since Bodie vanished and we exhumed the unknown man from the helicopter. When I gave him the news that it definitely wasn't Doyle, he was rather upset. A political hot potato, he called it. It took a lot of convincing to persuade him not to send a hit squad out for Doyle. The strings I can pull there are becoming rather thin, I'm afraid."

"You think he might still do so?"

"Aye. But perhaps we have a little amount of time to finesse him. If I can get Doyle back here and in my custody in time, then perhaps it will calm him down. More so if I can finally get some answers."

"And who would you trust for such a mission?"

Cowley looked thoughtful for a moment. "I suppose I should get some use out of Bodie. After all, he seems to be the one person Doyle trusts enough to keep in contact with."

"Hmm, while we're on the subject, what contact did Doyle have with Agnes Penfold?"

"None at all. Which is rather strange on the face of it…" Cowley trailed off.

Elizabeth smiled. "Despite knowing about at least some of his proclivities, I've heard the gossip, so you don't have to be coy about it. A roving pair of womanisers is the nicest description I've heard. And there have been many."

"Hmm. Well, then. The other agents were running one of their usual betting pools. The one on how long it would take for Doyle to, ahem, 'take Agnes out' wasn't collected before he absconded."

"They seemed pretty sure that she would capitulate." Elizabeth was rather irritated by the notion that a woman would automatically say yes.

"To be fair, the betting pool on 'Doyle asks and gets slapped' was still running too."

"And what about Bodie?"

"My sources have it that the pot was won within three weeks."

"Would Doyle poach?"

"Yes, but Bodie wouldn't mind. They share, shared, everything. Except the propensity for betrayal, that is." Cowley's voice became flat.

Not knowing how to answer that, Elizabeth was rather grateful that the phone rang at that moment. Cowley picked it up and listened for a few moments in silence before replacing the receiver.

He turned to look at Elizabeth with solemn eyes. "Agnes is dead. She was killed in a traffic accident three weeks ago. Hit and run."

  
* * * * *

 **Saturday 4th August**

By the time his plane landed at Kai Tak Airport, Bodie was feeling rather optimistic. He had been steadily gaining on Doyle in the last couple of weeks, indeed the final note, written on the back of a bill from the same cafe Bodie had dined in that day, seemed proof that he was only a few hours behind.

In the six weeks he had been stalking Doyle he had been led on by cryptic personal messages, each one designed to call up a conversation or confidence between just the two of them. An old teddy bear, complete with label, had sent him to Peru; a scribbled note requesting a suitcase stuffed with notes to Geneva airport. The camera of course, reminiscent of Doyle's yearning to capture the pyramids. And other conversations had been called into play in the weeks they had been playing this cat and mouse game. And Bodie was still confused as to where it was all going.

He had never even thought about what he would do with Doyle even if he had caught up with him.

But he was sure he could think of something.

Passing through security, Bodie noted that the airport was very busy. Of course the main airport that served Hong Kong was large and filled to over-capacity, but the sheer mass of humanity threatened to overwhelm him. Bodie hoped to ease his way quickly outside and head on down to the main city, where, he was hoping, a message, or perhaps the man himself, would be waiting.

As he was shouldering his way through the congregated masses, a message came over the tannoy system. It was rather indistinct, in the usual manner of tannoy messages the world over, but on second repeat Bodie was able to decipher what was said.

 _"Would Mr. Raymond Doyle please come to the information desk on the main concourse."_

Bodie's heart skipped a beat. Was it possible that Ray was actually here? In the same place Bodie was for the first time in months? Then reason reasserted itself. It was more likely to be a message left by Ray for him.

He quickly changed direction, heading towards the large desk in the middle of the main concourse. It wouldn't do to be too obvious about this. Finally picking a pillar to lean across, Bodie was able command a fair view of the whole desk.

Nothing happened. He didn't recognise anyone milling around the area, even taking into account some disguise Doyle might wear. No further announcements were made and Bodie finally had to concede that either the message was for him or that he'd imagined the entire thing.

As he stepped away from the pillar, a security guard came up beside him.

"Mr. William Bodie?"

Bodie immediately shied away, straight into the arms of another guard, who grabbed at his arm. The first guard took his bag and his other arm.

If you'd come with us, please." And, brooking no argument, they frogmarched him towards the security suite.

Bodie had time to curse himself several times soundly for getting trapped so easily before the trio stopped in front of an anonymous grey door.

The first guard handed back his bag. "If you'll wait in there, please."

"I don't have much choice in the matter, do I?" Bodie muttered, as the second guard swung the door open and pushed him through.

The door closed behind him and Bodie realised he wasn't alone. Sat at a metal table was George Cowley. A vaguely familiar agent lounged against one wall.

"Sit down, 3.7," Cowley said, in lieu of a greeting. "8.4, you can wait outside."

The unnamed, but numbered, agent pushed off the wall and sauntered outside, no doubt to lounge against the wall next to the door. Bodie, with no other options left to him, dumped his bag on the floor and sat in the indicated chair.

"If it escaped your notice, Mr Cowley, I'm just plain Bodie now. You have my resignation letter."

"Do I?" mused Cowley. "Oh, you mean this?" and he reached into his pocket, pulling out the white envelope Bodie had left on Cowley's desk months before and sliding it across the table. It was still sealed.

"Yes, sir," and the sir fell out automatically. "That's the letter I was referring to."

Cowley ignored it. "Well then, it's quite handy us running into you like this. I've got a job for you."

"Oh, no you don't. I've resigned. I don't have to do any job for you ever again."

"You haven't resigned until I say so," Cowley snapped. He closed his eyes for a moment, rubbing at his temples and Bodie was quite shocked to see quite how tired the old man was. Then Cowley opened his eyes and fixed him with a stare. It would be a mistake to underestimate his old boss.

"As I said, _3.7_ , I have a job for you. One I think even you will be willing to take."

Bodie lounged back in the hard metal chair. "Okay, I'm listening."

"Are you indeed?"

"Not much else I can do, is there? Until I hear you out, I'm not getting out of here."

Cowley acknowledged this with a nod of his head. "Well, it's not the wholehearted agreement I was hoping for, but that will do. You may wonder why I've engineered this meeting. It's about Doyle."

Well, that was not a surprise. Bodie stared back impassively.

"I want you to find Doyle for me and bring him back home. Alive, at all costs."

"Well, that's going to be a bit difficult, seeing as the last contact I had with him was over a week ago and you diverted me before I could pick up the next clue to his whereabouts."

"That's not important. I have the message you were supposed to pick up. We've tried to decipher it ourselves of course, but the meaning is lost. I believe only you, or Doyle of course, can know what the note means. Which is why I need you."

A great hope surged in Bodie's breast. The trail was still alive. He had to get his hands on that message. Then the meaning of Cowley's words filtered through Bodie's brain. "You want Doyle brought back. Alive?"

"That's the idea, aye."

"But why? Why not just a general order to shoot on sight?"

"You know why as well as I do. Doyle is the only link we have to his masters, whoever they are. We need to know who they are and what they know."

Bodie frowned. Perhaps this wasn't all it seemed. "So this isn't the end of some giant sting operation where your undercover operative comes in from the cold?"

But Cowley's next words crushed that.

"No. Everything is as it was. I'm sorry Bodie, but there is still no doubt as to Doyle's guilt. But it will help his cause immeasurably if we can get him to confess everything he knows."

"The difference between private firing squad and doing 'the honourable thing', no doubt," Bodie said in despair.

Cowley made no comment on that. Indeed Bodie acknowledged to himself that there was probably no answer to that.

Bodie thought for a few minutes. Accepting the job would mean working once again for CI5, but it was the best chance Bodie had of finding Doyle. Resigned to accepting the deal, Bodie nodded. "Okay, I'll do it. But this is the last job I'll ever do for you. Don't rip up that resignation letter, you're going to need it."

Cowley stared back at Bodie impassively for a few moments before taking a small postcard out of his pocket. He pushed it across the table and Bodie snatched at it, greedily absorbing its hidden message. Yeah, he could understand why The Cow hadn't been able to decipher this note. Even he himself had a pause for a moment as he took in the picture of a house on the front and its simple, trite message: _Wish you were here!_ on the back. But Bodie still had a vast store of shared memories to call on and, in the end, it wasn't too difficult to recall that particular drunken conversation.

 _"Did'ya know, he lives in Morocco?"_

 _"Who?"_

 _"'Im. Ole Reagan."_

 _"Nah. He lives on the moon. Most of the time."_

 _"S'true. Definitely Morocco."_

 _"How do you work that one out then?"_

 _"S'what Casablanca means, dun't it? White House."_

That particular conversation had then rapidly descended and a good night had been had by all.

"So Washington is your next stop, then?" Cowley's voice cut across the painful memory.

"Something like that," Bodie replied noncommittally, already planning his route and acknowledging that Washington would now be part of it, if he had any chance of shaking off any tail that Cowley might put on him. "So why the whole charade of dragging me halfway across the world? If you knew where to pick up Ray's message and post one of your own, you could just have followed us. Grabbed Doyle easily."

"Not that easily, I'd wager," Cowley countered. "I believe it is critical to the success of this mission that you're on our side. Hence this so-called charade. And besides, why waste a number of agents on a job that is, as some might argue, outside our purview? I had a devil of a time convincing the Home Secretary not to put either Interpol or MI6 onto this as it was. No, believe it or not, the quickest way to get this dealt with was to convince you to play by our rules."

"I'm not, necessarily, going to play by your rules," Bodie warned. "I'm only doing this for you because it's convenient for me at this time."

"Exactly." Cowley nodded. "Well, then. Don't let me detain you, 3.7. I'm sure you've new travel plans to make."

Unable to think of a polite thing to say, Bodie picked up his bag and left without another word.

 

* * * * *

 **Monday 13th August**

When George Cowley finally returned from the Far East, he looked much the same as when he left. Except, perhaps, Elizabeth could detect a little, very little, touch of optimism in his general demeanour.

It was several days before he had the time to spare even five minutes for her ongoing project, but as soon as was practical, he appeared at the door of Elizabeth's small office.

"George," she greeted him with a smile. "I was wondering when you would get round to me."

"Going away for a few days seems to encourage the paperwork to increase ten-fold," he complained, gratefully sinking himself into the spare chair. "But, the Lord-willing, I think I'm back on top of things."

Elizabeth poured a generous amount of whisky into a glass and handed it across to the Controller.

"Thank you," he said appreciatively. "How have you been getting on?"

"No bad. Did you know Agnes Penfold, your computer expert, was quite the protégée of Sir Henry?"

"No, I didn't. Her file did indicate she worked for at least one of the companies he held, amongst a number of others. But nothing to indicate that he knew of her. "

"Hmm, yes. Well it seems that several of those other jobs were secondments to set up databases on behalf of one of Sir Henry companies, BeeChip. She'd worked at Pharmacet before that, on installing computer hardware for one of the pharmaceutical plants."

"So you think that Agnes might have been working for Sir Henry in less legal way?"

Elizabeth nodded. "Susan has been taking me through the wonder that is your database system. Quite the piece of work, you know? Fascinating. We could have done with such a powerful tool when I was with the Cabinet Office. Getting the information you need is so quick and easy. Though, of course, it has its drawbacks."

George raised an eyebrow. "Such as?"

"Security in CI5 is tight. No-one off the street could get into this building unobserved. And that's what the database relies on. There is internal security, but it has its weaknesses. Consider that the administrator has complete access to the data. On its own, it's a potential security risk. And they have ability to grant anyone they like the same privileges."

"Someone like Doyle?"

"Precisely, compounding that risk many times over, whether through accident, ignorance or malicious intent. And that's not even considering the possibility of a back door."

"A back door?"

"Susan was quite happy to explain this one to me. Basically it's a like a hidden door, you can only get in if you know about it. A couple of keystrokes and the programme knows to let you in. It also conceals any unauthorised access as the rest of the security protocols don't know about it."

"And there isn't one?"

"Not that we've found, no. But I think it would be foolish to assume that there isn't one."

"So security could still be compromised. Damn. I fear this could be the end of the database."

"Well an expert could find it, given time. And, in the meantime, talk to Susan. I know she's been re-writing the protocols and has already taken the most sensitive data off the computer. I think she's talking about a separate system for those."

Cowley nodded. "I will do."

"And we know that Doyle didn't know anything about a back door."

"He used his own account, where it was plain to see."

"He's not used to this kind of technology. It probably didn't even occur to him that his accesses were being logged."

"But Agnes knew. Why didn't she warn him? Or do something about it?"

"I've been asking myself the same question. I think it comes down to time. I think she was covering herself so she could get away before she was caught as well. I think the breach was caught too quickly for her to act for both of them, so she relied on us not looking too far beyond Doyle until she was in a position to get herself away. As it is, she managed to cover up her side of the theft most diligently. There's no record of her actually admitting Doyle through her own administrative access. That has been left to appear like a glitch in the programming."

"But it isn't."

"Definitely not. It would have affected more users. It's too convenient that it was only Doyle's account that was so affected. And then there's the question of how the account was affected." Why just the user access? We know he was originally assigned to the standard group for agents, so it wasn't an input error. It's all very strange."

"So, where does this all fit in?" George indicated to the board hung prominently behind Elizabeth's chair.

Elizabeth stood and placed Agnes' photo directly under Henry Beech's. She then picked up a couple of coloured threads, weaving them around a number of pins in the board. "Agnes Penfold worked for Beech at Pharmacet, and again at BeeChip. There are close links there and it's certain that they knew each other. Contrarily, we can still prove no link at all between Doyle and Agnes. Agnes somehow set Doyle up with the necessary access, while he got the information out or acted on it. Now, Doyle's connection to Henry Beech is still tenuous. But he was seen at Sir Stephen Chase's residence before the arms raid. We still don't know what his connection to that is. But we know Sir Henry was involved, somehow, there. Perhaps Doyle was acting on behalf of Sir Henry, ensuring that the operation ran smoothly."

"But would Sir Henry risk a traitor whose cover had been blown on such a delicate matter?"

"He might if he had set it up to fail. Get rid of Doyle and Sir Stephen together in one fell swoop."

"No honour amongst thieves eh? Doyle had been promised passage out of the country but learned in time that he had been betrayed. Perhaps when he realised Grayson was there. He couldn't know that the helicopter would be rigged to explode..."

"But it might make him pause enough not to trust a route out that been prepared by his employer."

"Exactly. He somehow escapes, then lies low until he can get away unseen. Heads to North Africa, organises, somehow, a hit on Sir Henry Beech before sending word to explain exactly why the man had been targeted."

"It certainly fits the facts as we know them. But what's the motive for killing Sir Stephen?"

Cowley shook his head. "It could be one of a myriad reasons. Perhaps it was to keep him quiet. Perhaps he wanted more money. This lot seem to be an unscrupulous bunch. But you're right. We need to know more about whatever this arrangement was."

"Which brings us neatly back to Ray Doyle. How did you fare with Mr. Bodie?"

"About as well as I predicted. He was very loathe to cooperate until I gave him an offer he couldn't refuse."

"But?"

Cowley sighed. "Bodie wears his heart on his sleeve most of the time. And he's usually fairly direct, if there's something he wants. But this time... I don't know. There's something we're all missing, here, I'm sure of it. I just hope it doesn't jeopardise the investigation."

"Do you think it will?"

"I just don't know. He will find Doyle, I'm sure of it. But what he does after that, well."

"You have a suspicion that he's not innocent in all this?"

"I suspect everyone. That's my job. But no. It's something else. While I've done my best to ensure the correct outcome, there are still one or two factors out of my control."

"I hope, for your sake, he does the right thing."

Cowley raised his glass and drained it. "I hope, for everyone's sakes, he does."

  
* * * * *

 **Tuesday 21st August**

As Bodie set foot on Moroccan soil, he cursed Cowley for what felt like the thousandth time. Prior to being diverted to Hong Kong, Bodie had felt that he was gaining on Doyle, but all that was now moot. Even if he had been only hours behind, and he had no proof of that now, the almost three-week delay between leaving the Swiss Alps and landing here; via Washington DC, of course; would mean that, in all probability, the trail had gone cold.

Bodie cursed Cowley again, for good measure, and set off through the airport to find a taxi. A little bit of haggling, and he was soon being taken towards the city.

He should have realised that the note was a forgery. An old bill with "Esther sends her love" in block capitals. Too easy to come from somebody else. And he hadn't noticed.

  
But at least now he had a purpose. Even if he'd had to sell his soul to Cowley, again, to do so. Doyle would be delivered alive to CI5 as agreed. And then Bodie would finally be free to think about the future. Of course, the irony was that he had finally decided that the chase was futile. Hong Kong was to have been his last attempt before he gave up and found something else to occupy him. Not that he had any plans. But this stalking of the man he had once called 'partner' was almost obsessive.

Changing his mind, he asked the taxi-driver to call straight at the bar. He didn't need a hotel, he could be out of here before night-fall if could he pick up the note that had been left for him. Bodie wasn't under any illusions that Doyle would be found here. He was bound to have moved on again, if only for security reasons. The man was on the run and this was not a safe place to hide for someone who hardly ever had left the green of England before. If Doyle had really never been out of the country prior to this. And that was a fact that was no longer certain.

The bar he had described to Doyle, so long ago, half-soused and willing to share a little, was in the older part of the city, and didn't look all that much from outside. Come to think of it, it didn't look like much from the inside either, dimly lit and pokey. Unlike the bars on the tourist route, this had little in the way of entertainment. A poker game in the corner, the inevitable prostitutes - of both sexes - looking for trade. Bodie ignored them all and walked up to the bar.

In what he knew to be execrable Arabic, he enquired if any note had been left for him, but the man at the bar answered in the negative and Bodie inwardly sighed. He had too little remembrance of the particular conversation that had led him here, and could not remember if he had mentioned any other bars. There were a handful he knew of, but surely he wouldn't have mentioned them. But there was no other chance, so he set off on his quest.

Night was falling by the time Bodie made it to the last of the bars he could remember. Again the barman answered in the negative to Bodie's question. As all had in the hours he had been trudging to and fro.

Bodie sighed and turned away. He had exhausted every lead he had. Perhaps it was just as well Doyle could not be found.

The barman grasped at his wrist and Bodie turned back, muscles automatically coiling in anticipation of an attack.

"You English, yes?" the man enquired in broken English.

Bodie nodded, warily.

"Then perhaps you help? Man come in every day now. English too. Three weeks maybe. Cause trouble. Not now. Soon. In his eye, yes? You big man, may be help move man on?" He rubbed his finger and thumb together in the international symbol for money. "I make it worth your while?"

Bodie shrugged, not willing to get himself into any local dealings. "Why don't you get your own boys to 'move him on', eh?"

The barman shrugged. "I cause no trouble. This man. Not tourist. Not worker. Not whore. Not anything. Very suspicious. You not tourist either." The barman looked Bodie up and down with a quizzical frown.

Bodie frowned back. It would be an awfully big coincidence, but he had to know.

"Where is he?"

"Over in that corner," the man pointed. Bodie looked, but it was too dim to distinguish anything but a general shape. Bodie nodded to the man and walked over to the table quietly, stopping as soon as he could get a clear look at the man who was likely to cause so much trouble.

It was Doyle.

Bodie hung back a moment, to ascertain the risks. Doyle looked unwell. Never the most brawny of men, he was now thinner than ever. His hair had grown or been dyed back to its original colour, in direct contrast to the sandy orange of the ageing tourist he had appeared to be in Cairo. It was still shorter than Bodie was used to, and hanging limp around a pale and sweaty face. Bodie wondered if it was just alcohol, or whether or not he would have to contend with the effects of some kind of drug abuse.

He stepped into Doyle's line of sight and was deeply perturbed when Doyle didn't react at all. Hesitating, he looked deeper to find the man he once knew in this wreck of humanity. But he couldn't find it. The confident man he'd once worked beside had gone. As had the more confusing persona Doyle had worn in Cairo. Bodie still wasn't sure which, if any, the real Doyle was.

"Hello, Sunshine."

Doyle finally reacted, starting up, chair falling over backwards, a wicked-looking knife appearing in his left hand.

"Bodie?" he whispered.

"Yeah, it's me."

Doyle continued to stare, assessing, and Bodie grew uncomfortable under the other man's gaze. Then, obviously happy with what he saw, Doyle finally put away the knife. "Bodie! Am I glad to see you!  
Here, have a drink. Barkeep! 'nother glass and b'nana, please!"

"I think you've had enough, Ray," Bodie started, helping Doyle upright his chair and sit back down.

"Nah, this's good stuff. Here, try."

Bodie sniffed at the glass suspiciously before pretending to take a sip. His eyebrows rose at the unmistakeable smell of mint tea. Well, whatever Doyle was on, it wasn't the drink.

"What are you doing 'ere, Bodie?" Doyle asked as the barman set down another two teas in front of them. Bodie nodded at him, hoping to convey his willingness to get Doyle out of here.

"Looking for you, Ray."

"How did you find me?"

"You've been leading me a wild goose chase for the past two months and you ask how I found you? You're having me on."

Doyle frowned at that. "Leaving you notes? Oh, yes. I hadn't realised... It's you? It's really you?"

"In the flesh, old son."

Doyle tentatively touched Bodie's arm, as if to verify that statement. "Amazin'. I never..."

His voice trailed off again and Bodie wondered what, exactly, the man had been taking. It could be any number of things, but assuming that it was under some semblance of control, then it might work in his favour. The first trick, though, would be to get out of here and get somewhere more private. Bodie opened his mouth to speak, but Doyle was already standing, draining his glass.

"We better get going. Can't talk 'ere, can we? I've got a place round the corner. Nice and private." He left a pile of change on the table and staggered towards the door. Bodie caught his arm to steady him – and to make sure that Doyle didn't disappear on him.

They walked out into the cool night air, and Doyle immediately turned left.

"It's just down here," he remarked pointing the way down and into the maze of tiny lanes and alleys that typified the area. Although the narrow streets were bustling with people, their progress went unimpeded and the two men soon fetched up at an unassuming door, no different to countless others they had already passed. Doyle pushed it open with one hand.

"In here," he whispered, leading down the short stone corridor to a further door at the end. He unlocked this one with a key and showed Bodie into a small, dark room. He lit an oil lamp and placed it on a small bedside table. "Home, sweet home," he chuckled, waving his hand.

"So I see," commented Bodie, dryly, as he took in the sparse furnishings and general squalor of the place.

But he didn't have time to look closely as Doyle immediately pressed him up against the wall, his lean length covering Bodie's from shoulder to knee. Curls tickled beneath his chin and huffs of breath drifted across his neck as hands stroked everywhere else within reach.

"God, Bodie. How I've missed you," Doyle mumbled into his neck before licking and nipping his way across Bodie's collarbone.

Doyle rarely ever used his mouth on his body anywhere other than on his cock and these new sensations quickly threatened to overwhelm him. And, when Doyle insinuated his knee between Bodie's trying, and succeeding, to push himself in closer, Bodie started to unravel. Casting caution to the winds, he reached down, scrabbling to pull the restricting cloth of trousers aside. It had been months since he had had Ray's hard cock in his hands, let alone other places he'd rather it be, and he needed it now.

"Want you," Ray whispered, succeeding in unzipping his trousers just as Bodie succeeded in undoing his own.

At the first touch of heated flesh, both men groaned loudly, fumbling to grab each other's cock. It was awkward. Bodie, leant back against the wall, was half off-balance with his trousers still around his ankles, Doyle was pushing him further backwards, hard against the rough wall, resting a lot of his weight on his chest and groin. It seemed like sense to hold each other up in that circumstance, winding arms round each other's waists, pulling each other even closer as they rocked against each other.

Neither man could last long. Bodie came first, release boiling up through him, leaving his thoughts and feelings scattered in its wake. Ray soon followed, crying out in his ecstasy

As heart rates and breathing slowed in the aftermath, Bodie felt Ray press his lips at the juncture of neck and shoulder. "Love you, sunshine," the other man said and sagged in Bodie's arms, almost pulling them both down on to the floor.

Bodie froze for a moment, a chill shudder running through him. _What the hell?_ Then he gathered himself, resolving not to think about it. Pulling the unconscious Doyle up and dropping him onto the bed, he checked for signs of life, The pulse was a little fast, but that was probably a consequence of recent activities. But Doyle did not stir. Bodie smiled to himself. This was an opportunity to get one over on his former friend, no point in waking the man up before he had to. So Bodie moved fast, mopping them both up, then handcuffed Doyle to the head of the bed and used a spare belt to hobble him.

Now concerned for the still-unconscious man, Bodie checked Doyle's arms carefully, looking for tell-tale track marks, but could find none. Doyle was better at this, he knew far too well the myriad ways that a man could demolish his own body. But Bodie was fairly familiar with many of them as well. Whatever it was, Doyle wasn't injecting it. Smoke or pills, perhaps.

He searched the room thoroughly, coming across a quantity of cash stuffed into a holdall and a gun and spare magazines, tucked behind the small bed. He placed the cash into his own bag, with the ammunition, but kept hold of the gun. Amazing really that this hadn't been found and stolen by any opportunistic thief. But no pills of any kind. Frustrating really that he had no way of knowing what Doyle had taken or when. Plans could be made to take advantage of situation, but only if he knew what the situation was.

As it was, he would just have to trust to fate. Doyle was deeply asleep and probably would be for a while. Bodie was fairly sure that he had time to get out and arrange transport back to England before Doyle woke up. And if Doyle did wake up, well. He would have some difficulty getting free. Hopefully his bonds would hold him until he got back.

Bodie picked up his holdall and with only one backwards glance, let himself out of the room and out into the night air.

  
* * * * *

Doyle hadn't stirred by the time Bodie got back. He was pretty sure this wasn't a good sign, but in the absence of anything else he would take this and work with it. Different scenarios, and solutions to them, ran through his head as he worked quickly, untying Doyle from the bed and re-cuffing his hands behind him. He left Doyle's legs untied, reasonably sure that he could force some kind of cooperation. And besides, it would be easier to walk Doyle to the pick-up point. Or he could carry an unconscious body if the cooperation was unforthcoming. If he had to.

He repacked the holdall, pushing Doyle's gun securely down the side, easy enough for himself to get at it, not so easy for the handcuffed Doyle. Then he sat on the rickety chair by the side of the bed, gun held loosely in his lap, and prepared to wait, at least a little while, for Doyle to wake up.

The oil lamp was starting to burn low by the time Doyle began to stir. Bodie had been resolutely not thinking about anything but the successful conclusion to the mission, but Doyle looked so very innocent as he finally awoke.

Well, appearances could be very deceiving.

He finally looked at the man, to find him focussing blearily at him.

"Hello, Sunshine," Doyle said.

Bodie concentrated on the names and faces of the agents Doyle had murdered in his betrayal. It helped.

"Got to get going," he commented, brusquely. "Pick-up's in an hour."

Doyle nodded, visibly collecting his wits together, whatever this pale facsimile of his old friend still had. The tone of voice passed without comment, and Doyle started to move. He stopped abruptly as he belatedly realised he was bound.

"What's this?" He rattled the thin loops of metal together. "Handcuffs? You've not turned kinky on me have you?" The tone of voice was light, but Bodie couldn't see the other man's expression in the waning light.

He grasped his gun a little tighter. "You're my prisoner." Bodie was fully prepared to bring the butt of the gun down on Doyle's head, if necessary. Even shoot him.

Doyle was silent for a moment. Then he nodded. "Under cover, eh? Well, if it's necessary to get us out in one piece. But can't you leave the cuffs off for a while? Until they're needed?"

Bodie shook his head. "They're needed now." He unbent enough to try to sound convincing. "Sorry."

Doyle shrugged, and then winced. "Fair enough. Just don't expect me to run far like this."

 _I was counting on it,_ Bodie thought. "Let's go," he said instead.

"Well, help me up then."

Not relinquishing his tight hold of his gun, Bodie stood, swinging the holdall over his shoulder and hauled Doyle to his feet.

"Anything you need with you?"

Doyle shook his head. "Got everything I need right here, don't I?" he said bumping a shoulder into Bodie's.

Bodie gritted his teeth and grasped Doyle's arm tighter. "Let's move then."

They made steady progress out of the house-cum-hovel and out into the winding streets. Bodie had slung Doyle's jacket over his shoulders before they left, so they didn't attract any attention as they made their way to the docks. Walking in silence, they were over half-way to the pick-up point when Doyle stopped suddenly.

"Friends of yours?" He enquired in a low tone.

Bodie looked and cursed volubly. Two men had appeared out of the shadows. At least one of them was carrying a knife. "No. Trouble."

"Bollocks. This way then," and Doyle took an immediate left turn, ducking into some kind of alley. They were running then, darting through narrow, dark streets. Doyle stumbled more than once, off balance without the use of his arms and Bodie wondered whether he could have played this differently. But he hadn't been expecting any trouble. But, there again, it always paid to expect it. Especially when it didn't seem to be likely.

They finally paused as they neared the dock area, as one seeking the shelter of a pile of crates either off-loaded or waiting to be loaded onto one of the many cargo ships that passed through there.

"We lost them?" Doyle asked, audibly out of breath as he leaned against the stone wall.

"Think so," Bodie answered. "Hope so. They were just your common-or-garden muggers, looking for an easy mark." Even as he said it, he felt embarrassed, so surprised he was by his own reaction to the threat.

Then a voice called out. "Come out, come out, where ever you are! We know you're here and we've got you surrounded!"

The voice was familiar, but Bodie couldn't place it.

"It's Bodie, isn't it?" the voice continued. "Don't you recognise your old mate? I'm going to enjoy this job. I still owe you for the little present you gave me back in Dakar."

Bodie finally placed the voice and cursed heavily. Too late he was reminded exactly why he had vowed never to set foot back in Africa.

"Definitely old mates of yours," Doyle whispered. "Do you always get such a warm welcome?"

"Shut up, Doyle," Bodie snapped, thinking hard. This was obviously some kind of trap, but was it a deliberate set up or was it just on the spur of the moment? There were at least four of them, and, as he heard a gun bark and a bullet hit the wall somewhere to the right of them, at least one of them had a gun. Though, knowing Ted, they all would. This was bad, this was very bad.

Doyle, in the meantime was squirming against him. "Get me out of these cuffs, Bodie," he hissed. "Can't do much while I'm trussed up, can I?"

Bodie looked at him. He was just one man, with a dangerous prisoner. And with at least four men ready to shoot him down. Without Doyle he might just do it. But he wouldn't be taking Doyle back to England with him. The reason for Ted's 'present' reminded him of as much. There was no way he could defend the two of them from this position. But the two of them...

"Bodie," Doyle hissed again, hopping from foot to foot in frustration.

He made his decision. At least this way there was a possibility of them both getting out of this alive. Assuming Doyle wasn't going to put a bullet in him as soon as he was able. And if not, well at least this way The Cow would still have a chance of retrieving Doyle. And if they both died trying, well. At least they'd died trying. A bullet in the head was a damn sight better than anything Ted would have in store for either of them.

He dug in his pocket for the keys and released Doyle's handcuffs. He could hear the soft sounds of the enemy getting closer as they searched.

"Here," he said, pulling Doyle's gun out of the holdall and thrusting it at him as Doyle rubbed at his sore wrists. Doyle took it, the checking it over as automatic as breathing. "Just be careful where you point that."

Doyle snorted. "Still teaching your Grandmother to suck eggs, I see. Got any ammunition?"

Bodie dug back in to the holdall and pulled out the spare magazines. "Not much, I'm afraid."

Doyle grimaced. "It'll do." He stuffed them into his jacket pocket. "How bad is it?"

"Four, possibly up five. Try to take out Ted, he's the ringleader."

"The gobby shite, right? Okay."

And with that they fell into the old patterns, as if that morning long ago was only yesterday. Doyle rolled out, drawing fire, Bodie pin-pointing each man from the muzzle flash from his own vantage point.

They had been the best Cowley had. Were still the best, regardless of the deep mire of betrayal and hurt that had extended between them. Bodie took out two with the first draw of fire, sparing his own meagre supply of bullets. Then it was he who was running as Doyle returned fire. And Bodie really wasn't sure which side would get him first.

As he rolled to safety behind the next stack of pallets, he realised the gun-fire had stopped.

"We got all four of them," Doyle grinned, standing straight and blowing on the muzzle of his gun like a Wild West Cowboy.

"Good," Bodie replied absently, climbing to his own feet and now wondering how on earth he was going to gain back the advantage this little fracas had cost him. He turned to Doyle, still unsure what to say. But he froze immediately as Doyle brought up his gun, aiming right at Bodie's head.

"Down!" Doyle cried and instinct kicked in, driving Bodie to the floor even as Doyle's gun fired. He felt the bullet whistle harmlessly above his head before hitting the floor with a force that all but knocked the wind out of him. Quickly he pulled himself out of his defensive huddle, realising there _had_ been a fifth man, had got Bodie in his sights even as he'd been stood there, congratulating his partner, his ex-partner, on their victory.

And speaking of Doyle...

He saw him a few feet away. It was obvious that the fifth man had managed to get a shot at the two of them. Bodie had been his target, but instinct had changed that. There was blood, too much blood even in the pre-dawn light. A shoulder wound, perhaps, but blood was also staining Doyle's torso. Bodie crawled to him, wondering what to do now. This man who had saved his life, His partner. If he took him back now he would only be saving him for months of interrogation and Bodie was under no illusion that the end would be the same. Duty to his country or duty to ... this man. He sat back on his heels, unsure of what to do now. 


	3. Part Three

_It's no matter if you're born  
To play the King or pawn  
For the line is thinly drawn 'tween joy and sorrow,  
So my fantasy, becomes reality,  
And I must be what I must be and face tomorrow.  
 **Flowers Never Bend with the Rainfall - Simon and Garfunkel**_

  
 **Friday 28th September**

As September drew to a close, Elizabeth's puzzle board started to resemble a dense, colourful, spider's web, each thread representing a contact of some sort. Agnes Penfold's personal effects, which had been requisitioned, had finally been handed over by a reluctant mother, and had proved to be a wealth of information. Her diaries, once decoded, had meticulously noted every meeting with everyone she had contact with. Including Sir Henry, whom she met with at least once a month, and Sir Stephen, whom she had met with on more than one occasion. There was also mention of a 'Guild' of some sort and 'our Leader', something Elizabeth was sure had something to do with the entire case, but could not prove. Casual enquiries garnered no information and without knowing anything more about 'The Guild', it was impossible to find out.

While Agnes' diary had been a mine of information, the whys and wherefores of the case were still highly obscured. Nothing tied in to each other as it should. Even a comprehensive review of all the cases that had been soured by Doyle's betrayals lent no clue. They were a complete mixed bag. A couple of IRA cells, a prostitution ring that was possibly, or possibly not - the leads had vanished before any connections could be proved - a financial investment for a small, belligerent African dictator. A hit on a minor German diplomat had been successful, while an industrial espionage case had been dropped when, despite CI5's best efforts, the chief witness for the prosecution had been shot dead.

Elizabeth filed that one for further consideration, though she could still see no connection there and hoped that George Cowley was getting further with his detainee.

She had a chance to find out when he called her into his office, early one Friday morning.

She took the offered seat and accepted a cup of tea from Betty. "So how's our fugitive then?"

"Better than he has been, the infection was much more deep-rooted than first thought. He'd had a knife wound for some time before Bodie picked him up in Casablanca. The doctors are quite surprised he survived at all, to be honest. But he's still very confused. Bodie has indicated that Doyle was showing some classic signs of drug abuse even before Casablanca, perhaps even before he met up with him in Cairo."

"It would be an explanation for his betrayal."

"But it's not Doyle. He was in the drugs squad, prior to joining CI5. He's seen what drugs do to people. It's almost impossible to think that he would resort to this sort of undignified slow demise, regardless of how bad the rest of his life is."

"Have the doctors found out what Doyle's particular habit is?"

"No. They're still running tests."

"And Bodie?"

"He hasn't been anywhere near Doyle. Hasn't even mentioned him to me. It's almost as if he's gone back to pretending that Doyle is dead, now he's in custody."

"Yes, Kate Ross has been talking to me. She's rather relishing the chance to be let at Doyle, if he ever stabilises. She's rather keen to see how he managed to fool her all these years, if I'm any judge. But it's Bodie she's worried about."

"Her and me both," Cowley confessed, but refused to elaborate.

"Have you got anything out of Ray Doyle yet?"

"Very little. But we do have one thing."

"And what's that?"

"While delirious, not everything Doyle has said has been unintelligible. He mentioned a place up near Liverpool, on the Wirral and it rang a faint bell with me, so I had Susan call it up. It has a lot of chemical factories and warehouses there, one of which used to be owned by Sir Henry Beech, before being sold off. Interestingly, it was sold to one of the small subsidiaries he owned, a chemical storage company. It was demolished about four months ago in a big explosion, killing two security guards."

"And you think that there might be something there?"

"I don't know. It's been months and it is possible anything interesting has been cleaned out. But Sir Henry was out of the country at the time, and it is possible that he didn't know anything about the explosion, not actually owning the property directly at the time. Certainly the police didn't know anything about the change in ownership. It didn't exactly mean anything to them anyway. But I think it's worth checking out, so I've sent a team up to investigate. Hopefully we'll get something from them in the next day or so."

"As a matter of interest, who have you sent?"

"Jax and Anson. And Bodie."

"Bodie? Is that wise?"

"Probably not," Cowley conceded. "But without knowing what they are going to find up there in Liverpool, I'd rather have three of my best agents up there."

  
* * * * *

 **Saturday 29th September**

It was the next morning before the trio of agents found themselves standing outside the offending warehouse.

“That it?” Anson queried.

“Looks like it,” agreed Bodie easily. “Amazing what a discarded cigarette can do, isn’t it?”

Anson nodded morosely, snapping his gum.

The place was frankly a wreck. The standard firework-factory plan of thick walls and a light roof had obviously not been followed here. The explosion had taken out most of the top of the building; fire scorching the remaining walls black.

Even after so many months the area was still covered in police tape, fluttering in the warm breeze. The agents ignored it, stooping under it automatically and making their way over the uneven ground. Masonry and twisted metal originating from the warehouse littered the ground.

“The explosion really did a number on this place,” remarked Jax.

Anson grinned. “And it was such a palace before. Mullioned windows, sweeping vistas…”

"A sundial in the middle of the lawn…" Jax continued. "Must've been a picture!"

"Before it was framed, of course." Anson retorted, laughing at his own wit.

They had neared the wrecked hulk of the building as they were talking, crossing to what seemed to have been an entrance before. Now the corrugated aluminium shutter gone, probably blown halfway across the yard.

“This blasted heath,” Bodie muttered.

“Shakespeare, eh?” remarked a man who had suddenly appeared from the ruined doorway. “That’s rather high-brow for your lot, isn’t it?”

All three agents stopped and glared at the unwarranted interruption, but the man was unperturbed. “I’m Detective Inspector Williams,” he remarked, holding out his hand.

There was a perceptible pause before Bodie stepped up and shook the man’s hand. “Bodie,” he responded tersely. “So what have we got here?”

Williams frowned. “This place went up in May. It was an accident, as far as we could tell from the preliminary investigations. Two people were killed in the blast. The owner never bothered to clean up. It just sat here, like this, up until a few days ago.”

Bodie nodded. He’d read as much from the report. “And now?”

“Well, as soon we realised you were actually going to grace us with a visit, we held off, you see. Didn’t want to tread on any toes.” The words might be antagonistic, but the tone of voice was light, almost jovial.

Bodie felt his calm mood slip. “And did you find anything in between those two events?”

All credit to Williams, he responded to the severe tone and pulled himself up straight. “Well, kids found the entrance to the secret laboratory a few days ago, before we were informed you were on your way. Quite amazing that we didn’t notice it previously, actually. Though, of course, we weren’t looking for it, at the time.”

“Secret laboratory?” Anson interjected. "Sounds like something from a second rate spy film."

“Unfortunately, yes. It's quite well equipped as well, for all intents and purposes. Lots of scientific equipment. And other stuff. Two more bodies for one.”

“They still down there?”

“No. We removed them. You have to understand they’d been down there since before the blast. Not very pretty either of them by now.”

“Cause of death?”

“Just preliminary thoughts, okay?"

Bodie nodded. He might not have been a copper, but he did understand how the police worked.

“Well, one in the corridor was most likely shot in the head. Half of it was missing. The second, the one by the chair, had a broken neck.”

“Neither self-inflicted, eh?”

“Unlikely,” Williams agreed.

“So, another person or one of the two original bodies?”

Williams shrugged. “The men who died in the blast were security guards. They are both accounted for. And, well, perhaps you should see for yourself.” He gestured to the interior of the building.

“We may as well,” Bodie answered. “Seeing as we’ve come all this way.”

It was darker inside the warehouse, though not excessively so. There was very little of the roof still above the men. Most of it lay around their feet, piled on the twisted remains of the storage facility the warehouse had contained. It would’ve been hard going, but a path of sorts had been cleared through the debris, and the men easily followed the Inspector.

There were steps to a now non-existent upper level in one corner of the warehouse, and Williams led them behind them. A floor hatch had been pulled back to reveal a set of stone steps leading downwards.

“This place has a cellar?” asked Jax.

“Nuclear fall-out shelter,” responded Williams, leading the way down. "Or that's what it looks like."

“Great,” muttered Bodie.

Williams led the men down a short corridor and through an open blast door. “If that had been shut, I don’t think we’d ever have got in here,” he remarked.

It was lighter the other side of the door, fluorescent lights built into the ceiling were glowing.

“The electricity still works?”

“Separate generator,” answered Williams. “And water supply. It’s completely cut off from the rest of the facility, which would make sense in the circumstances, of course.”

“Of course.”

There’s several rooms down that way with evidence of prior occupation,” Williams pointed down the hallway, “but you’ll probably want to see the lab first.”

“Is that where the second body was found?”

“Yes. In here.” He led the way into a large room. “The man was found over there,” he pointed over to the far corner, where a large wooden chair stood next to a bench. Its purpose was obvious.

Bodie glanced over it, impassively. So whatever they had been doing down here, it had human test subjects. That was certain. “He was in the chair?”

“No, crumpled to one side, actually.”

“So whoever had a go at him had probably been in the chair at the time.”

Williams nodded. “It’s not beyond the realms of possibility.”

Bodie looked quizzical.

“Well, it would make sense. If whoever it was could get free.”

Bodie took a closer look at the chair. It was heavy and bolted to the floor. Thick leather restraints were riveted to every available surface. Put a man in that, do it up properly and he’d be hard pushed to move an eyebrow.

“Anything else of interest?”

“A couple of lab books on the benches, they’re already bagged and tagged for you. And there’s a safe in the next room.”

“Managed to crack it open yet?”

“We’ve got someone working on it now.”

“Oh so you really did decide to leave it all to us.”

Williams shrugged, unrepentantly. “There's also a cell, if you can call a box four foot on each side a cell. But the other rooms are fairly innocuous. I suppose you’ll want to have a look."

“You go, Jax. Anson, you check out the safe. I’ll stay here for a moment.”

“To soak up the ambience, eh?” replied Anson, but he was already halfway to the door.

“Something like that," Bodie called after him.

As the other men left the lab, Bodie glanced round. It was your typical laboratory. A couple of computers sat on a bench on one wall. Bodie flicked the switch of one, but it didn’t start up. Whether because it wasn’t plugged in or whether because something had fried the electronics, he didn’t know and he resolved to ask about them before he left.

He didn’t know what they were doing here. Except that the Cow didn't know what to expect. Three trained men could take out a nest of vipers, but this had turned out to be just a liaison and courier job. And Bodie knew that he wasn’t any good at those.

What had Cowley thought they would find?

He looked round again, before focussing back on the centrepiece of the room. The chair. Though 'chair' was too normal a word for it. The thing loomed, hinting at unspeakable things done in this room. Bodie looked at it more closely. There were spatters of dried blood on the surface.

Some poor sod had probably spent the last few days of his life in that thing.

A flash of white by the chair leg caught Bodie’s eye and he stooped down to see what it was. He reached out to touch it, but drew his hand back as he identified the object. Whether the previous owner was the poor sod in the chair, or whether it had been knocked out his torturer’s mouth Bodie didn’t know. But he knew better than to tamper with evidence. Doyle would have his guts for garters, for a start.

Bodie sighed at that. It was, what? Four hours since the last intrusion into his thoughts. That was fairly normal. But he had a method for this now. If an intrusion occurred, and he had the time, he would devote exactly five minutes to the thought. And then he would banish it completely. Until the next time.

He glanced around again, but he was alone. And he probably had the time. If he was found being all introspective, he could always say he was thinking about the case.

Instinctively avoiding the chair, he pulled out a high stool from under the bench and sat on it, propping himself up on his elbows on the surface of the bench.

Yes, Doyle would’ve given him hell for it, but Doyle was dead to him now and Bodie could not forget that. Though the man he had delivered into Cowley’s safe hands was alive at the time - and that was by no means certain now as Doyle had been in a bad way by the time they had reached England - that man was not the Doyle he had known and loved.

Yes, loved. And that was a mockery of fate if there had ever been one. He had fucked, and had been fucked by, the man he loved for over seven years and had never even realised. Never even had chance to say anything. Hell, he'd never even kissed him. Kissing was for birds, not for partners you fucked every so often.

But it was also for the person you loved. Not even a single inkling had crossed his mind until he had knelt there, looking over the bullet-ridden body of the best friend he’d ever had. The man who had sold out his country for mere money. And Bodie was confronted with the hardest choice he had ever had to make. Duty to his country or duty to the man he had loved more than anything else in the world.

He’d made the right choice, of course. Except that it didn’t always feel like it. And now all he had left was the job. The same one Doyle had thrown away.

Bodie knew that Cowley was worried about him. Or, more importantly, was worried that he would soon be another agent down. But Bodie knew that was a false worry. The old man wasn't going to get another white envelope. Bodie no longer had anywhere to run to.

“Oy, I know that one. It’s a brooding Heathcliff, isn’t it?” Anson’s voice cut across his thoughts.

Bodie refused to answer, but turned to face the other man.

“We've got the safe open. You should see what’s inside.”

“You know, I think I can curb my curiosity. Just this once.”

“But we found…”

“Save it, Anson. Just bag it up. I’ll take it and the lab books back down to London with me now. The Cow did say he wanted any and all papers as soon as possible. You can continue up here, see if you can come up with anything else. And see if you can get someone to get into these computers.”

Anson scowled at them. “We could do with Susan for this.”

“I’ll see if Cowley can spare her. I’m not promising anything, though.”

“I know, I know. In the meantime, I’ll try to keep Jax away.”

“Fancies himself a computer expert, eh?”

“Yeah. But in reality he probably knows less than I do.”

“And I thought that was impossible.”

Anson grinned. “With computers, that just may be. Just you have a look at the stuff from the safe before you hand it over to the Cow.”

“I will,” promised Bodie. But even as he did so, he knew that it was unlikely.

  
* * * * *

 **Friday 5th October**

It was Susan who finally provided the key to the elusive Guild. While providing a print-out of Agnes Penfold's movements for the past few years, she casually commented "I didn't know Agnes was a Guildsman."

"Guildsman?"

"Well, Guildswoman, really. She did her undergraduate degree in computing at Imperial College. The Engineering faculty is called the City and Guilds College. Hence 'Guilds'. I was looking at applying, once."

"What happened?"

The smile on Susan's face vanished. "Let's just say, you don't get into CI5 without having an interesting time when you were younger. In the Chinese sense, if you know what I mean. That goes double if you make 'A' squad."

"Ah, yes. Of course," muttered Elizabeth,.

"Anyway, Guilds've got quite the old boy's network. I see that Agnes was already working by the time she graduated."

"Where?"

"Pharmacet. Hey, what's the betting..."

"Sir Henry was a Guildsman as well?" Elizabeth finished, grinning. "Let's see. And see what Sir Stephen's educational background is as well. Then, if that pans out, let's see if we can get a full list of these Old Guildsmen, see if any surprises jump out at us."

Susan grinned back. "I'm right on it!" and, collecting another stack of folders, she left, almost bumping into Cowley at the door.

"George!" Elizabeth greeted. "It's been a few days since you've been down to see us."

"Busy, I'm afraid, Elizabeth. I see you and Susan are getting on," Cowley eased himself into the spare to chair with a little wince.

"Yes, very much so. She's a godsend, really."

"I'm glad. Normally a spell in files means almost-terminal boredom for a recovering agent."

"Well, she's certainly not bored at the moment. And I'm going to be very sad when I have to hand her back. We're just working on a theory."

"Oh?"

"I'll let you know when Susan confirms our suspicions. In the mean time, I want to talk to you about the puzzle board."

"What about it?"

"Well, there's something completely wrong about this," Elizabeth removed Doyle's photo from the board and then unwound the threads connecting him from the others. "Look."

"I don't see it."

She sighed. "Everyone else is connected on this board. The lines I've removed don't make any difference. Anyone of your agents could take Doyle's place."

"So are saying that you think Doyle is innocent, he was merely a scapegoat, used to cover up the fact it was Agnes Penfold that was passing the information across to Sir Henry Beech?"

Elizabeth thought. "Yes, I suppose that is exactly what I'm saying."

Cowley nodded. "Well, then. I completely agree."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, George had obviously been thinking about this. "And?"

"I've had my specialists on this." He threw the file down in front of Elizabeth

She glanced through it, immediately picking up on one key phrase. "Test subject?"

"Doyle," Cowley confirmed. "His CI5 ID was found in the laboratory safe. If I'm right, Doyle was snatched back in February and whisked up north, before being the subject of about twelve weeks experimentation."

"Into what?'

"The best guess so far is some kind of mind control."

"How?"

"You've heard of sodium pentothal, of course?"

"The truth drug. But it's not."

"No," Cowley agreed. "It's not. It's a sedative and mild hypnotic. It merely allows its victims to feel a little more relaxed about the secrets they are betraying."

"So by using sodium pentothal they were trying to get more information out of him?"

"No. Sir Henry would've known that anything they could get out of Doyle once he'd been taken would be next to useless. Assuming they could get anything out of him. All 'A' squad agents are trained to withstand such techniques. And it wasn't just sodium pentothal. It was a mixture of different barbiturates, opiates, other non-barbiturate sedative hypnotics and a few other, more exotic, chemicals."

"It's surprising, then, that with that cocktail running through his blood, Doyle is still alive."

"Yes," George bowed his head for a moment, lips set in a thin line. "If he hadn't been in such strong health to start with, it's quite possible that he wouldn't have survived. As it is, it's been touch and go since we got him back home."

"So what were Doyle's captors doing?"

"Experimentation. A new kind of chemical warfare, if you will. Imagine if you could turn anyone into a double agent through a mixture of biochemical implants and hypnotic suggestion?"

"And Doyle had one of these implants?"

"Apparently placed under the skin, it was supposed to leak out a little of the chemical mixture into the blood constantly, reinforcing the suggestion. If it worked correctly, the scientists who were masterminding the project were convinced that it would take between six and ten weeks for the effects to be permanent."

"And did they succeed?"

"Not quite. For a number of reasons. They tried several different combinations, finally hitting on one that seemed to be working. Except it seems then that the capsule was defective, leaking the chemical into the blood far too slowly. Before they could replace it, Doyle escaped. They hadn't got very far in the imprinting process before it was all over. However, the drugs still leaking into Doyle were still having an effect. Using a mixture of what had been said in the original process and subsequent events, Doyle instead built his own reality, one that is substantially different to what we now know."

Elizabeth sat down. "Nasty."

"Very."

"But why Ray Doyle?"

"Opportunity, I believe. He had been set up as a scapegoat by Sir Henry over the leaked information and was to deliver him to Sir Stephen to dispose of. But Sir Henry obviously thought him too valuable to waste and instead gave him over to his scientific team, finding a substitute to murder instead.“

"So Doyle was never at Caxted Hall?"

"I don't think so. I think Sir Henry had to come up with the 'package' he had already organised the delivery of to Sir Stephen and sent some poor doped up fool in his place. The gun was planted to make us believe Doyle was there."

"And Grayson?"

"I'm not sure about that. Either he didn't see much of the Doyle substitute and IDed him wrongly, or someone else could've given that whispered identification, after Grayson was shot, just to ensure that we believed it was Doyle in the helicopter. I think that the bomb was supposed to be set off over the Channel, once the pilot and Sir Stephen had bailed out. But it went wrong, blowing them all up in the back garden at Caxted Hall."

"Leaving no-one to know when Doyle finally escaped and headed out of the country."

"Precisely."

"So what now?"

"Well, now our doctors know what they are working with, I think they'll be able to at least counter the physical effects of the drug. How much permanent damage it has done to Doyle's mind, well. We will have to run more tests. The doctors are already looking for the capsule implant, and are assessing him for the physical effects of the drugs, although there are indications Doyle's been in withdrawal for a few weeks. He'll get the best care and, when he's ready, we will be able to ascertain what decisions need to be made about his future."

Elizabeth opened her mouth to say something else, but at that moment Betty came hurtling into the small office, not bothering to knock.

"Mr. Cowley!" she said, her breathing a little harsh. "I've been looking for you everywhere! Doctor King just called. Ray Doyle's escaped!"

  
* * * * *

 **Sunday 7th October**

The early morning air was damp and chill as Bodie jogged along the quiet streets. The end of British Summertime had given a temporary reprieve, but it would be less than a month before these morning runs would be completed entirely under the cover of darkness.

As Bodie turned into the old cemetery, he lengthened his stride, easing himself into a loping run. Force of habit turned his thoughts to the myriad subjects that bothered him so much, but he ignored them ruthlessly, concentrating on his breathing and the uneven ground beneath his feet. Running was a kind of meditation, after all, and all it took was a little discipline to dispel all inappropriate thoughts.

But such were the nature of those thoughts, that Bodie found himself quite unable to keep them at bay for long. First and foremost of these was the fact that Doyle had been missing for two days, not a hide nor hair of him to be found anywhere. All agents Cowley could spare were combing the area between Repton and London, looking for some clue as to where he had gone. Bodie’s flat was on twenty-four hour stake-out, as was Doyle’s old flat. Bodie was sure that Doyle wouldn’t be found approaching either of them, he rather hoped that Doyle had gone for good. Somewhere where Cowley and CI-bloody-5 couldn’t reach him.

And there was the other raging thought running through his head. The Cow had called him in as soon as he was able. Bodie had been on an obbo the other side of London, and it had been hours before he found out that his ex-partner had done a runner. And the old bastard had had the temerity to order Doyle to be brought in alive at all costs. Again. Bodie had finally snapped at that and given Cowley what for. Not letting the older man get a word in edgeways, he pointed out that he found the man’s methods highly questionable. If he had not been able to get anything out of Doyle in the previous four weeks, he was unlikely to get it if he had another shot at his particular brand of systematic torture.

Cowley had tried to interject at this point, but Bodie had stood firm. There was no way he was going to take part in running Doyle to ground this time. And if that meant his resignation, then so be it. Bodie had then terminated the interview by hightailing it out of there, slamming the door to Cowley’s office so hard the glass rattled, and avoiding all attempts to stop him as he left the building. He’d removed the batteries from his R/T as soon as he remembered.

For all he knew, Doyle had already been found.

But that was not likely. The stake-out on his flat had still been there this morning and Bodie had resisted manfully waving to them has he jogged past. Cowley had obviously given up on contacting Bodie, waiting for him to calm down a little. But Bodie wasn’t so sure he was going to. If anything, all this thinking had just cemented his conclusions. What point was there to being on the right side of the angels when their methods, especially one they had called their own weren't so different to those on the other side? Bodie knew, had experienced, the questionable tactics of those who had nothing to lose, he wanted to believe that there was some difference there. Except, he wasn't sure there was any more.

Completing a first circuit of the cemetery, a movement in the trees to one side caught his eye. It was probably a fox; there was plenty of wildlife in the area, after all.

Another flash of movement caught his eye and this time he stopped, staring into the trees. That had definitely not been a fox unless, of course, animal experimentation had managed to get far enough to breed the blighters in blue.

With the back of his neck prickling, Bodie eased forward, his running shoes making no sound on the wet, patchy grass.

A flash of blue again, someone was hiding behind the next tree, and Bodie cursed himself for no longer carrying a R/T or gun. As he drew near, he reached out to grab the arm of the unknown watcher and, as he did so, he stood on a fallen tree branch, snapping it with a loud crack.

The watcher spun round, twisting in Bodie's grasp and he found himself face to face with a very bewildered Ray Doyle and the business end of a gun.

Bodie immediately let go, dropping Doyle's arm and taking a step backwards, hands held open to the side and in front of him, showing no threat.

Doyle held the gun trained on him, his hand shaking as he gazed at the man standing in front of him. "Bodie?" he asked uncertainly.

"Doyle," Bodie acknowledged, warily.

"Bodie," Doyle said again. "What are you doing here?"

"Jogging," Bodie replied succinctly, gesturing carefully to his track suit. "A more pertinent question would be 'what are you doing here?'"

Doyle shook his head hard. "Don't know." His voice was uncertain and Bodie took a careful look at the man standing in front of him. Doyle looked very ill. Pasty white and sweating even in the chill of the early morning sunshine. But he was most definitely alive.

"We have to get out of here." Bodie knew that Cowley and CI5 would be closing in by now and he was already computing their next moves. Drop out of sight, head northwards. Catch a container ship and get off this thrice-damned island. He still knew of one or two cargo ship owners who'd turn a blind eye to whoever his passengers were, as long as the payment was big enough and the men were willing to work.

But Ray's next words shattered his plans. "Can't do that."

"Why not?"

Doyle laughed. It was an ugly sound. "You're CI5, mate."

"Not any more, Ray-mate. Up and resigned, didn't I?"

"Why?" Ray's voice held curiosity and nothing more.

Bodie sighed. This was going to take time, time they didn't have. "Can't we do this somewhere a little less public?"

"No." Doyle shook his head. "I'm not going anywhere with you. Can't trust anyone, can I?"

"You can trust me." But Bodie knew that was a false argument, he'd already betrayed Ray before. Why would Ray trust him again?

"No, I can't. Can't trust anyone. Can't even trust myself. Don't know what I've done, but it has to have been bad, doesn't it? For it to haunt me so."

"What do you remember?"

Doyle shook his head. "Not much. Questions. So many questions. Who I was working for, what I was doing. It didn't seem like my life, but they kept asking, kept demanding. Drugs. Lots of drugs." Doyle looked down at the ground for a moment, then stared back up at Bodie, pain in his eyes. "I killed them. I had to escape, so I killed them. Snapped his neck with my bare hands. Who were they, Bodie?"

Christ, no wonder Cowley was desperate to get his hands on the fugitive.

"Then you were there, and it was all okay again. Until it wasn't. And you were gone and I had to see you again." Doyle's voice had taken on the cadence of a bewildered child. "I thought it'd be all right, but it won't, will it?"

"It will be all right, Doyle," a new voice cut across the graves and Bodie whipped round to see Cowley standing behind him.

 _Oh, Christ,_ Bodie thought. _Too late._ He opened his mouth to speak, but Cowley carried on, completely ignoring Bodie.

“If you would just put the gun down and come along with me, 4.5, and we can get this all sorted out.”

 _4.5?_ Bodie was bemused. The Cow’s voice was gentle, but firm. Rather stating facts than trying to persuade. Bodie turned to Doyle who, if anything had turned paler. His erratically shaking gun was now trained on Cowley.

“What?” Doyle asked. “How…?”

“We can talk about that later, 4.5. But right at this moment, we need to get you back to the hospital.”

“No!” cried Doyle. “I can’t!”

“Yes you can, and you will.”

“Now look here…” started Bodie, but was immediately silenced by Cowley raising a warning hand at him, not taking his focus off Doyle.

“4.5, I know that hospital is a frightening prospect for you at the moment, but it’s the only way we can make you better. We know what happened, and we know how to reverse it.”

“CI5,” Doyle accused in a hoarse voice.

“No,” countered Cowley. “We know you were kidnapped and we know what happened after that. It wasn’t CI5, that I can assure you.”

“But I escaped… snapped…” Doyle’s head fell forward slightly, “ran…” his head snapped up and he stared straight at Bodie. “You were working for… I…” His brow furrowed, and the gun fell from his slack hand. “What’s happening to me?” he said in a bemused voice, looking directly at Cowley before he unceremoniously crumpled to the ground.

Bodie just stood there, shocked into silence as Cowley went over to check on the fallen man and used his own R/T to summon assistance. Murphy loped over to help and Bodie unfroze himself, white hot rage beginning to boil through him.

He opened his mouth.

"That will be all, 3.7!" bellowed Cowley, cutting across his first words. "I've had quite enough of your attitude!" He continued in a slightly lower voice, "Murphy, take this young hothead back to Headquarters and deposit him with Betty. I'll go back with Doyle to hospital myself. Bodie, if you're not waiting on me when I get back, well..." As if not being able to think of a threat dire enough, Cowley left it hanging, turning his back on the two men as Murphy tugged at Bodie's sleeve to pull him away from the scene.

  
* * * * *

It was close on four hours before Cowley made it back to Headquarters, and in that time, Bodie had gone from anger to resignation and back again, twice. Murphy had sat with him, silently, for as long as he could before leaving Bodie in the not-so-tender ministrations of Betty. No-one was saying anything.

Cowley strode past Betty with only minimal acknowledgement, before beckoning to Bodie to follow. Bodie stood and did so, closing the glass-panelled door behind him none too lightly.

"What the..."

"Shut up, 3.7," Cowley snapped. "For once in your life you are going to listen to me!"

"Listen to you spin more of your lies, like you did to poor Ray, you mean? Well, I've had just about enough of them!"

"And I've had just about enough of you!" Cowley paused to take off his tie and loosen his collar, before sliding his jacket off his shoulders and hanging it on the hat stand by the door. He continued in a quieter tone, "For your information, Bodie, every word I said out there was true."

"And I'm likely to believe that," Bodie scoffed.

"Possibly not," Cowley conceded, "But it's definitely true. You went up to that laboratory, man. You know what you saw."

Bodie, mouth open to deliver another tirade, actually felt his brain switch tracks. "... You what?"

"Liverpool. Or don't you remember? The burnt out warehouse, the secret laboratory in the basement?"

"I..." He remembered the lab all right. Still gave him nightmares, if he were to tell the truth. The tiny cell, the chair with all those restraints... Doyle had been there?

 _'I killed them. Snapped his neck...'_

The world went grey for a moment and when it cleared, Bodie found himself sat in the chair next to Cowley's desk, with Cowley leaning over him, pressing a glass of scotch into his hand.

"Drink that up, Bodie," Cowley said, softly. "You took a bit of a turn there."

Bodie did as he was bid, feeling even more light-headed as the scotch burned a path down to his stomach. He slid the empty glass onto the desk, hand shaking as he did so and Cowley poured him, and himself, another.

Bodie took another sip and finally found his voice. "Doyle was there?"

"Held for about three months, by my reckoning, before he managed to escape."

"Bloody hell," Bodie breathed. "But what about the spying before? All that information passed on?"

"Doyle was set up to take a fall by Agnes Penfold. You know, the computer girl? You dated her a couple of years ago."

He vaguely remembered her; she had been good-looking and witty. "But why set up Ray?! I mean, it's inconceivable!"

"Yet we all believed it. At least for a while."

Yes, Bodie had believed it, in the end. And he'd nearly put a bullet into Ray, very nearly ended the man's life while everyone still thought he was a despised traitor. He shuddered.

"What, what did they do to him?"

"Drugs. Experimentation. Trying to turn him into the double agent they'd already made him out to be."

And Doyle had escaped that, only to realise that he was already thought so. "It must have almost killed him!"

"Aye, it almost did. But he's on the mend now. The doctors inform me he should be as good as new in a few weeks."

"And in the meantime?"

"We're going to find out why Doyle was set up in the first place."

* * * * *

 

 **Tuesday 9th October**

"So, how is our brave agent?" Elizabeth enquired the next morning when Cowley came to call on her in her office.

"As well as can be expected. Weak, two days in hiding on top of everything else hasn't done him much good, but he's on the mend."

"Well, that's good news, at least."

"Yes. Unlike this investigation. We are now further away from the truth than we were before. We now don't know who ordered Beech and Penfold dead, or who ordered the hit on Doyle in Casablanca."

"Oh, I might be able to help you there."

Cowley stared at her. "My God, Liz, you've solved it, haven't you?"

"Well, it's still only a hypothesis, but one that holds together, I believe. We've known for a while that it wasn't Doyle at the centre of the puzzle board, but that there had to be someone there. He, or she, is connected to Sir Henry Beech and Sir Stephen Chase. He's not above murder or blackmail to get what he wants. And he's very good at keeping hidden. I was quite stumped with this one. Until Susan uncovered another link between Agnes Penfold and Sir Henry Beech. They're Old Guildsmen."

"They both went to Imperial College?"

"At different times, of course. But they met through the alumni association. Sir Henry was already mixed up in the illegal activities and roped Agnes in to help. Susan had a look through Sir Stephen Chase's history and, although he didn't graduate, we did find out that he'd read Electrical Engineering at the College before dropping out to help his ailing father run the business. And I found another in the list of cases that Doyle had, supposedly, accessed. I think we're looking for another Old Guildsman as the head of this little band of merry men."

"That's rather a lot of suspects."

"Yes, I know. I had Susan call up a complete list and it went on for pages. Someone is going to have a lot of work to do, checking up on each one. But I found a short cut. I checked out those members who would have been at the College at the same time as either Sir Stephen or Sir Henry and I found a name you might recognise."

Cowley raised an eyebrow.

You remember the case with Kovac, of course?"

"Yes?"

"Well, I said at the time there were two names on my shortlist."

"Dawson and myself. But Dawson is dead and I'm not a Guildsman."

"No, you're not. And I wasn't implying that you were. Dawson wasn't either, but I think he ties into this rather well. There was one other man mentioned at the time. A man who was cleared of suspicion when the dispatches went missing at Orly."

Cowley caught on refreshingly quickly. "The Minister? Of course. He read Mechanical Engineering. It'd be about the same time as Sir Henry."

"Exactly. I think he knew exactly who Dawson was and had him on a very short leash. One that even the Russians hadn't spotted. He covered up Dawson's betrayal, but for a price. A big one."

"But why? And what has this to do with this?"

"Information and the lack of it, I rather fear," Elizabeth said, unconsciously echoing Cowley's words from months before. "Agnes called the man behind all this 'our leader'. I don't think she was being rhetorical, merely premature. I think Denholme is angling for Prime Minister and is using whatever means he can to get there."

"So he puts his own man as head of MI6 and finds a mole to infiltrate CI5. It makes sense, I suppose. But why the rest?"

"Ah. Yes. Denholme has been rather playing both sides against the middle. At the same time as using the information he received to his own political ends, he was also selling it on, making pots of money for his 'Guild'. Who were also involved in all sorts of activities."

"Including the illegal arms trade. Yes."

"You dealt him a massive blow when you exposed Dawson as a Russian agent, taking out one of his biggest lines of intelligence. And when you threatened to start digging around and weed out the traitors, well. It was only a matter of time before you found the mole he had planted and that line of communication would be shut off too. Even worse, he knew that Agnes would most likely lead you straight to him."

"His office recommended her for the job," mused Cowley. "It wouldn't have taken long for us to get there."

"No. So he set up a scapegoat and organised that scapegoat to be sacrificed before he could get word about what was going on. He entrusted Sir Henry with this, who was supposed to pass Doyle onto Sir Stephen, who, I think, had started to become a liability for the organisation. I don't think that the gun-running was anything to do with the Guild. I think that's why Sir Stephen was killed. Sir Henry planned for both of them to go up together in a shoot-out with CI5."

"But Sir Henry had also recognised the usefulness of a CI5 agent who wasn't being looked for and had passed Doyle on to his secret lab team. Without which we would never have got to the bottom of this."

Elizabeth nodded. "When Denholme realised what Sir Henry had done, he had to get rid of him. He had Agnes killed to guarantee no information leaks in that direction and then ordered a hit on Doyle as well. With all three out of the way, he would be safe."

"But I arranged for Doyle to be picked up alive, against the Minister's express wishes. One thing is still bothering me, though."

"Only one thing?" Elizabeth smiled, wryly.

"Why Doyle? If any of my staff could have been used to direct attention from the real mole, why pick the one person least likely to actually _be_ a traitor?"

"You said so yourself, George. One half of your best team. If one of your best men were feeding the 'other side', which ever side that may be, with information, then who could you trust? It would also discredit your own clean sweep."

"A very nasty business. But, now we know what is going on, what are we going to do about it?"

"Denholme has managed this very well. Without the witnesses, we don't have any proof. Just logic and intuition."

Cowley thought for a moment. "I know just the thing. And I know just the person."

Elizabeth frowned.

"Denholme isn't the only one to have spies planted in the opposite camp." He rose from his chair. "I'm afraid I need to dash off. I'll need to have a word with her before I see the Minister this afternoon."

"And what are you going to tell him?"

Cowley smiled. "The truth. That Doyle is ready and willing to tell us everything. As soon as he recovers consciousness."

  
* * * * *

 **Thursday 11th October**

It was the middle of the night and Bodie was trapped in a closet. It would be a situation that Bodie would normally find bleakly humorous, but the reason for his present incarceration was not amusing at all. The caretaker’s closet in a central London hospital was the nearest covert hiding place to Doyle’s current private hospital room and Bodie had been tasked with monitoring the two cameras Phillips had previously placed in and outside the room. All Bodie had to do was sit tight and wait for a hired assassin to try to take out Doyle.

It was definitely no laughing matter.

Doyle had been moved from Repton to St. Marys in the middle of London, ostensibly for the acute medical care that such a place could provide. Cowley had briefed Bodie as to the real reason, of course, and Bodie wasn't quite sure how he felt about that. Doyle was still weak, regardless of what the doctors were saying, and he worried that Doyle wouldn't be able to fend off any sort of attack.

Bodie hadn't been to see Doyle in the two days since the obbo had started, on Cowley’s orders; the Cow, perhaps justifiably, worried that Bodie’s sudden presence at Doyle’s side would be suspicious.

But the Cow not a fool and hadn’t ordered Bodie to stay away this time. Instead he was relegated to watching Doyle sleep on a blurry television screen where he would be next to useless if the agent outside, currently a bleary-eyed Keene, was unable to provide backup.

The monitors looked clear, so he reached for his R/T. “5.3?”

“Yeah?” Keene responded, sounding like he was yawning.

“How’s it going?”

“Boring as hell, to tell you the truth. Does The Cow really think the attempt is going to be here?”

“He’s counting on it, Keene. And you should count yourself lucky. What with the monitors in here there’s barely enough space for me and my flask of tea. And it’s boiling hot…”

“Hang on, Keene hissed, as his image on the screen straightened. “There’s someone coming. Doctor by the look of it.”

Bodie immediately sat up and watched the screen intently. A few heartbeats later, indeed, a white-coated man appeared on screen with Keene. There was a brief, silent conversation between the newcomer and the agent before the agent opened the door to Doyle’s room. The doctor slipped inside, the door closing behind him and Keene nodded towards the surveillance camera.

 _Good,_ Bodie thought. Keene was obviously as suspicious of the unusual appearance of a medic at this time in the morning as Bodie was himself.

Bodie now switched attention to the second monitor, hoping that the camera itself was in a suitable position to see the attack. This was the more frustrating part of the plan, not knowing how it was to be made. Cowley was betting against a straight hit, instead sure that the Minister had ordered that the death look natural.

The man didn’t look particularly like an assassin, short and stocky with thinning hair, but that didn’t mean anything. Bodie watched carefully as the man approached the bed, leaned over a slumbering Doyle to reach the IV line snaking into the back of Doyle's hand, and pulled a syringe out of his pocket.

Bodie immediately hit the send button on his R/T, sending a burst of static to Keene, and anyone else listening in, the pre-arranged signal and carried on watching the monitor.

 _One second, two seconds…_

Keene should be bursting in the door right now. Surely he’d’ve appeared on the monitor by now. He checked the first screen again, it showed no waiting agent.

He quickly switched his attention back to the second, but it was now only showing static. Bodie cursed and sprang out of his seat. He threw the door of the closet open and ran down the corridor towards Doyle’s room, pulling his gun out of its holster as he did so.

He took the corner at speed and skidded to a halt in front of the open door to the room in time to see Keene wresting the would-be-assassin’s arms behind his back to snap on handcuffs. Doyle, half-raised up off the bed, had his gun shoved in the man’s groin and, as Bodie watched, grinned a typical manic Doyle-grin up at Keene.

Bodie stumbled back from the door. _Doyle didn’t need him here._ He couldn’t breathe, his throat was tight. He had to get out of there…

He turned back the way he had come and ran smack into Cowley.

“Ah, 3.7,” Cowley greeted. “Is it all wrapped up here?”

Bodie nodded, not trusting his voice to speak.

“Well, come on then,” Cowley indicated to the room, let's see what we’ve caught.”

When Bodie didn’t immediately move, Cowley stepped around him and led the way into the hospital room. Bodie leaned against the door, not wanting to get any closer, not wanting to see the look of contempt in Doyle's eyes.

“Good job this thing wasn’t actually attached to me,” groused Doyle to Cowley, waving the fake IV line in lieu of a more traditional greeting. “And me hand’s all wet now.”

Cowley ignored him with the ease of a man who had put up with many of these complaints from Doyle and instead stepped up to the prisoner, looking him over. After a couple of silent seconds, Cowley nodded, obviously content with what he saw.

“5.3,” he said to the young agent still holding the prisoner firmly. “if you would like to deliver this,” Cowley indicated to the prisoner, ‘to 3.7. Tell him to deliver our guest to Headquarters and I’ll follow along shortly…”

At hearing Bodie’s designation Doyle’s head had snapped up, scanning the small room as if to see Bodie appear there. Not wishing to be seen, Bodie immediately stepped back into the hospital corridor, Cowley’s voice fading as Bodie moved away. He didn’t go too far though and when Keene stepped out of the room a couple of moments later, hand tight around the fake doctor’s upper arm, Bodie smoothly stepped forward, grabbing the other. Between them they -frog-marched their prisoner down to the Capri.

  
* * * * *

Cowley appeared back at Headquarters very quickly, Bodie had barely made their prisoner comfortable in one of the small interrogation rooms in the basement. In fact Bodie thought he recognised it, as he closed and locked the door, as the one he himself had been held in at the start of all this.

He was walking away just as Cowley came walking down the corridor towards him, limp slightly more pronounced than usual.

“Morning, sir,” Bodie said in faintly sarcastic greeting.

Cowley nodded with a faint grimace. “So what do you think of our catch then, eh?”

Bodie shrugged. “Not what I would expect from a professional. He’s too nervous by half. Damn near ruined the upholstery in my car on the way back here.”

“Scared, eh? Yes, that’s my opinion too. I think we out-manoeuvred the Minister quite satisfactorily this time round.”

“And put Ray in even more danger. I’d rather face a professional any day of the week rather than a nervous amateur.”

“Nevertheless, 3.7,” Cowley said, severely, “It worked. Do you think he’s ready to talk?”

“Over-ready, in my opinion. It was only my famous glare that stopped him from spilling it all in the car.”

Cowley raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment. “Well, then. Shall we?”

Bodie unlocked the door and stood back to let Cowley precede him into the room. He took up position by the door at a parade rest and stared at the prisoner as Cowley approached him.

“Hello, Alfred,” Cowley started in an amiable tone, dropping a file on the table and sliding into the seat opposite. “It is Alfred, isn’t it?” He made a show of consulting the file. “Ah, yes. Alfred Jacobs. You’re an accounts clerk at the Home Office?”

Alfred nodded carefully, his eyes very wide and scared behind thick spectacles.

“So what was an accounts clerk doing in a hospital room at two in the morning?”

Alfred licked his lips, but said nothing.

“Especially one wearing a doctor’s coat and attempting to inject an innocent man with poison?”

The other man finally found his voice. “It wasn’t like that!” he protested.

“Do you deny that you were there?” asked Cowley in an incredulous tone.

“Well, no. But I didn’t want to do it.”

“Really? So you were forced into attempting murder?”

“No! I mean, yes. But it wasn’t supposed to be murder!”

“What else would you call injecting a healthy man with a large dose of barbiturates and painkillers?”

Alfred shook his head. “It's not like that. He was supposed to be in a coma. That’s what he told me. That it didn’t matter, that it was a kindness really, the man was dying. It was just helping him along a little.”

“It was to be murder,” Cowley countered.

“No! I’ve never committed murder…”

“But you have ‘helped someone along’ before, haven’t you?”

Alfred’s eyes welled with tears, but he didn’t respond.

“That’s why you went along with this scheme, isn’t it? You were blackmailed into it.”

He nodded, tears running freely down his face now.

Cowley wordlessly offered him a handkerchief, then realised the man would not be able to use it with his hands still shackled behind his back.

“Och, release those cuffs, 3.7. I can’t see Alfred here being a problem, can you?”

With a frown Bodie did as he was told, instinct screaming that you should never leave a prisoner free. But he did agree with the Cow that Alfred didn’t look a threat. Instead of returning to his former position by the door, however, he stood directly behind the prisoner, ready to restrain if necessary.

Cowley let Alfred wipe his face before asking the most important question.

“So who was it who blackmailed you into attempting to kill Doyle?”

Alfred winced at the wording, but didn’t dare to contradict Cowley again. "I... I can't. He'll..." He trailed off into silence, and looked at Cowley, pleading.

Cowley nodded, seemingly absent-mindedly, and turned back to the file, flipping pages over in silence. He finally paused on one. "Ah, yes. Here we are. Maria Louth. Do you recognise the name?"

Alfred turned white. "I..."

Cowley turned another page. "How about Vera Masters?"

Alfred shook his head violently. "It was such a long time ago. I was young, so young. A junior doctor. Those women were in so much pain, I couldn't stand it. It's part of the reason I got out. But he found out about it, told me he'd go to the police. Tell them everything, if I didn't do as he said."

"Who was it?"

"I had no choice, do you see that?" Alfred whispered.

"Name?" Cowley pressed.

"He'll kill me!"

"Name?"

The prisoner sagged in defeat. "The Minister. Ian Denholme."

  
* * * * *

 **Friday 12th October**

"All packed up and ready to go, Liz?"

Elizabeth nodded, grabbing her coat from the back of the chair and laying it over her arm. She smiled at Cowley, "I am now. Will you walk me down to the car?"

"Certainly." He held out his arm and she took it, and they made their way down to the car park together.

"So, how did it go with the Minister?" Elizabeth, finally broke the comfortable silence.

"As bloody as could be expected. He put up a bit of a fight until I gave him the letter from the PM. Then he calmed down. Took it rather well, after that."

"Really?"

A shadow passed over Cowley's brow. "Well, as well as you could expect in the circumstances, anyway."

Elizabeth nodded. She wouldn't be surprised to see Denholme's obituary in The Times before the year was out. She changed the subject. "And what about your dynamic duo? Everything on the mend there?"

The shadow on Cowley's brow grew longer. "They are nothing if not unpredictable. If anything, I'd've laid odds on Bodie being the one to try to out-run his feelings of guilt. Not that he'd ever admit to them, of course. But it's Doyle who has handed in his notice. Some such rot about not being mentally fit enough for such a stressful position. Lad doesn't know what he's talking about."

"He might not make it back," Elizabeth reminded him.

"Well, he's certainly not going to if he's ready to give up already."

"You think there's something more to it."

"I know there's something more to it. The question is what." Cowley frowned. "It's as if…" he trailed off into silence.

"As if, what, George?" Elizabeth was intrigued.

"Och, I don't know. Damn fools, the pair of them. I'll get Bodie to knock some sense in to Doyle. It's something 3.7 is good at."

They walked on in silence until they finally reached the car park and Cowley's car, where Susan, back on full status, was waiting.

"Well, thank you for everything," Cowley said, sincerely, turning to Elizabeth and shaking her hand.

"I was my pleasure, George."

They both stood in an awkward silence for a moment, hands still clasped, before Cowley cleared his throat and spoke again. "I wonder if you would join me for dinner at my club, before you retire back to the country and your daily crossword?"

Elizabeth thought for moment, well, she'd always enjoyed George's company. So she smiled. "That would be wonderful."

  
* * * * *

 **Saturday 20th October**

Bodie managed to not visit Ray once while he was still at Repton, Ray having been moved straight back there after they had caught the Minister pet accountant-cum-hitman. Not that he was avoiding him, of course. No, it was just that with being kept so busy with various items of importance that he just hadn't have time to visit his ex-partner.

He'd even managed to wangle two free days the weekend he heard Ray was being released. It paid to keep an ear out, after all, and he was going to spend the leave somewhere very far from London. He deserved the time alone, after all.

That was until he finally realised exactly why the Cow had authorised the time off, bellowing for Bodie's presence on a Friday evening just as everyone coming off duty were slinking down to the pub. Bodie, putting the finishing touches to his final late report, had therefore delivered it by hand and had found that his plans for the weekend had been radically changed.

Which was why he found himself heading down country lanes towards Repton early the next morning with a direct order to 'sort it out'. Whatever 'it' actually was.

Doyle looked a lot better than the last time Bodie had seen him properly, not in a hospital bed. Upright for a start. He was still pale, but had put on most of the weight he'd lost during the ordeal.

He didn't particularly look pleased to see Bodie.

"Doyle." Bodie said in greeting.

"Bodie." Doyle returned.

"Your chariot awaits," Bodie offered with a wave towards the door, but a single raised eyebrow from Doyle quelled any further light-hearted commentary.

Then fell into an uncomfortable silence as Bodie helped Doyle down to the Capri with his bags and the drive back to London was conducted in the same silence. Ray, still recovering, mostly dosed in the passenger seat while Bodie concentrated on driving through the match-day traffic and tried not to think of anything at all.

Finally, pulling up in front of a nondescript block of flats in West Kensington, Bodie turned off the engine and leaned over to shake Ray awake.

"We're here, Sunshine."

Ray opened his eyes and smiled sleepily at Bodie, whose heart flipped. Immediately he pulled away, covering his confusion with efficiency.

"Come on," he said in a brisker tone, getting out of the car and moving round to the boot to retrieve Ray's bag. "I'm dying for a cuppa."

Ray meekly did as he was told, following Bodie up the stairs and into the large, airy flat, finally taking in his surroundings.

"'ere. This isn't my flat."

"No, it isn't," Bodie agreed. "Yours was reassigned months ago. This is mine."

"But..."

"Cowley said that as you were resigning, there was no point in your being assigned a new place. You're in with me for the duration."

Ray's eyes widened in panic. "Hotel," he said in a hoarse voice. "I can go..."

"Cow's orders, Sunshine. And this has the advantage of being free. Well, mostly free," he amended. "You can stump up for your half of the 'leccy and gas." Bodie realised he was taking a kind of perverse pleasure in Ray's discomfort; so close to his own, and he backed down slightly. "Look," he said, thrusting the bag into Ray's arms, "I'll go and put the kettle on, while you go and stow that in your room. It's the one on the left. Mind you're back in five minutes, though, or I'll have to come in and drag you out again."

He left Ray still standing in the middle of the small sitting room and went to make the tea, still half expecting Ray to be gone when he got back.

Tea made, Bodie wandered back through to the sitting room, heaving a small sigh of relief as he spotted that Ray had installed himself on the rather lumpy sofa, wedged in at one end, his holdall placed by his feet. He was staring at the silent television, frown creasing his forehead.

"Penny for them?" Bodie said as he placed the mug on the coffee table in front of Ray and sat in the chair to one side, not close enough to crowd.

Ray didn't stir, ample proof that Bodie hadn't startled him. Bodie sat back in the chair and tried again. "Look Ray, I know what you're going through. Going through it myself, as a matter of fact."

"So why are you doing this?" Ray's voice was low.

"Promised, didn't I? And I owe Cowley enough favours."

"That's like selling your soul to the devil."

"Yeah, and don't I know it. Look, come on. All we need to do is give him one good enough reason and he'll back off. But it has to be good enough to convince him that we are telling the truth."

"I don't want to talk about it." Ray said, defensively. "It's not going to change a damn thing, is it?"

Bodie didn't know how to answer that, so he took a mouthful of tea instead. "Drink up, Ray. Before your tea gets cold."

Ray automatically reached for his tea. "What?" he remarked irritably, as he took in Bodie's stare.

Bodie coughed. "So the quacks say you're totally cured then?"

"Yeah. Well, not quite. Ross still has to have a go, naturally. But even she's quietly confident."

"You must be the toast of Shrinktown, coming back as normal as you ever were."

Ray grimaced. "Yeah, Ross even said she wants to write a paper on me. Awful thought, that."

"So what's your secret?"

"Eh?"

"Well, you had countless memories bouncing around in that curly-haired bonce of yours. Some true, some false. How did you sort through them all?"

"Oh. Not much of a secret there, mate. I just took y... an object and any memory that didn't fit it, I discarded."

"Just like that eh? So what do you remember then?"

Surprisingly, Ray answered him. "Quite a lot really. Not everything had to be picked over. I don't know. Everything important. Childhood, being a copper. CI5."

 _CI5_. "You don't want to leave, do you?"

"Got to, haven't I?"

"Look, so they all spent six months thinking you were bent. So what? They thought you were dead for the majority of that time as well! And you know that it'll all blow over soon enough – everyone already knows that you were set up. There's even ample chance you won't get any jokes about it."

"Christ, Bodie. You know what this mob is like! Half the agents are always convinced the other half are on the take. That's what keeps us so good. 'Cowley's Incorruptibles'; not because individually we are, but together we keep our own house clean. Cowley's the worst; and the best. Sure it leaves a bad taste, knowing that he believes no-one is totally trustworthy, but it goes both ways. He didn't hold the Hahn case over us, did he?"

"Hahn?" Bodie frowned in memory. "Oh, dear old Victoria. Yes. So it's not the attitude of the other agents and it's not Cowley. So it is personal. It's me, isn't it?"

Doyle's silence was confirmation enough.

"Look Ray," he swallowed past the sudden obstruction in his throat. "You don't need to leave over this. It should be me that resigns. It was my fault, not yours. We could split the partnership up, go with other people. Or I can leave, if you can't bear to look at me even in passing."

"I can't… Bodie, what are you talking about?"

"Casablanca. You know that I came for you purposely to deliver you back to Cowley. So, okay, at the time there was no doubt in my mind that you were a double agent. But that's no excuse. I betrayed you."

Bodie let out a breath. There, the words were said. Better that he say them himself, than let Ray tie himself up in knots over the accusation. He glanced over to his once-friend, who was frowning in confusion.

"Bodie, why do you think I'm upset because you betrayed me whilst believing that I was a double agent? I believed I was a double agent! I thought I was leaving messages for my contact around the world. When you turned up in Casablanca, I thought you were a spy too! You did the right thing. I mean, if I had been passing information on, it was your best opportunity for finding out who I was working for. And, anyway, if you'd not turned me over to Cowley then, well. I wouldn't be here now. Would probably have died of septicaemia, if Denholme's men hadn't got to me first."

"But I believed that of you." And it was Bodie himself who was now the picture of abject misery.

"The entire squad did as well." Ray reminded him.

"This is different. I am, was, your partner."

"And you're only human. As much as you don't like to admit that, of course."

Bodie ignored the dig with the ease of long practice. "But, if it's not that, then why are you leaving?"

"And I say again: I don't want to talk about it!" Ray exploded. "Can't you get that through your thick skull?"

Bodie jerked back, shocked. "So that's it then."

"Yes." Ray's speech was clipped. "Look, Bodie. I should go. Get out of your hair." He stood, reaching for his holdall at the same time.

"And never darken my doorstep again. I know." Bodie's voice was bitter. "But tell me one thing, Doyle. If you're going to vanish out of here, never to be seen, by me at least, again, what's the harm in telling me why?

"I can't." He moved towards the door.

Bodie stood up angrily and crossed over to the window. Turning his back on the other man, he stared blindly down at the street below. "You know, it would be nice to know how, exactly, I've killed off this relationship. Just so I don't do the same thing next time something like this comes up, if you know what I mean?"

Silence stretched before them and Bodie had thought Ray had left. But then Ray responded in a whisper, "It wasn't you. It was me. I fell in love. I fell in love with you."

Bodie whipped round as the quietly spoken confession penetrated his brain. "You...?"

Ray was still standing by the door. "Look, I know. And I'm sorry, okay? I'll just..." And he turned away.

"NO!" Bodie cried, shocked into action. He rushed at Ray, grabbing his arm and spun him round forcing him back against the wall.

Ray dropped his holdall, face white and pinched. "Just get it over with," he said in a voice full of misery.

Bodie slammed his hands either side of Ray's head, leaning in, trapping him in place, all his concentration focussed on Ray's face, his lips. The impossible goal he had been fantasising about for months. With a growl he bent his head and pressed his lips hard against Ray's own.

At first Ray was unresponsive, his mouth tightly closed and body tense but, as Bodie gentled the assault, he began to relax and respond. Ray sighed, his lips parting, allowing Bodie's tongue to slip past them, probing for and meeting the other's tongue. This new contact, electrifying, seemed to flip some sort of switch in Ray, who began to kiss back in earnest, his arms winding around Bodie's waist and pulling him in closer. Bodie moved his own hands down to cradle Ray's head, thumbs gently caressing at the sensitive skin behind his ears. Ray groaned in response, pushing forward body to body, and the sound sent a shock of desire straight to Bodie's cock.

It was everything he'd ever dreamed about and more. Like all his birthdays rolled into one. Ray's scent enveloped him, intoxicating, and Bodie felt quite giddy. He sucked at Ray's lips, caressing teeth and tongue with his own, trying to pour all his passion and love into this one act, trying to make it say the one thing he had so much trouble saying himself.

After an indeterminate amount of time he drew back. Both men were panting heavily. Bodie kissed Ray once more on the lips. "I..."

"I didn't know..." Ray said at the same time and they both stopped, staring at each other in confusion. Ray finally laughed, weakly. "Can we go and sit back down, do you think? I don't think my knees can support me much longer."

Bodie nodded, letting go and stepping away as Ray unwound his arms from his waist. He immediately felt the loss and took Ray's hand, pulling him over to the sofa and sitting down. Ray sat down next to him, body angled slightly, knee pressing against Bodie's own, their hands still tightly entwined.

Ray broke the silence. "We're a pair of fools, aren't we?"

"Speak for yourself, earthling," Bodie chuckled, but seeing a flash of something in Ray's eyes, he continued more seriously, "Yes, I am. I've wanted to do that for months."

"And I've been wanting to do that for years."

"Why didn't you?"

"Queers don't kiss, remember? Someone told me that once."

"Who?"

"Doesn't matter."

Bodie frowned, but at the look on Doyle's face he quietly dropped the question on the tip of his tongue. It would keep. "Queers may not kiss. But lovers do."

"But we weren't lovers, were we?" Ray's voice was bitter. "Just mates who occasionally went to bed together. Don't get me wrong. That was fine to start with. But then I fucked up, didn't I? I fell in love."

"How long?"

"Months. Years, may be. I don't know. All I knew was it was tearing me apart that you didn't feel the same. I could fuck you, but I couldn't kiss you. Or hold you afterwards."

"That's why you started leaving so soon afterwards?"

"Yeah. You noticed?"

"Could hardly not do, could I? Wham, bam, thank you Bodie. I thought you were going to leave me. I thought you didn't love me any more... Oh!" The revelation stunned Bodie into silence.

"What?"

"How could I be so stupid? I was trying so hard to keep things the same as they'd always been that I hadn't realised they'd already changed. I was so hurt and confused that you didn't want me any more. But I didn't realise why and that confused me even more."

"Bodie, you're not making any sense."

"I know. I... I..." But the phrase turned out to be more difficult to say than he realised.

Ray must have noticed his plight because he leaned forward and kissed Bodie on the lips, effectively silencing him. "I know, okay. And, for the record, I do too."

Bodie nodded, heart lightening. He would say it one day, but not today. Some day it would slip out naturally, and that would be okay. Wanting to change the subject, he deliberately lightened his tone of voice. "So now that's all sorted out, why are you resigning?"

Ray grinned, accepting the change of direction in the conversation easily. "You know, I haven't the faintest idea."

"We could both go, I suppose."

"And what would we do?"

"I'm sure we could think of something," Bodie leered.

"For money, I mean. I don't have that many transferrable skills."

Bodie pretended to think for a moment. "No, you're right. Back to being Cowley's Irregulars, I suppose. But on Monday morning.” He stood, holding his hand out to Ray and pulling him up off the sofa in one swift movement. “I've got plans for you this weekend, Raymond, my boy."

"Oh, really?" Ray said, following Bodie out of the lounge and into the hall.

"Yes and they definitely involve us both being naked and lying down." He paused at his bedroom door, thoughtful frown creasing his forehead. "So, you are completely back to normal then? No lingering effects of the memory drug?"

"None at all, I swear. Don't worry; I've not forgotten what goes where and how."

"No, it's not that. It's just that I've had this offer of a bridge I thought you might be interested in."

"Oh?" Ray pretended to consider this. "What colour is it?"

Bodie grinned and grabbed Ray's hand, pulling him into the bedroom. "Oh, Sunshine, any colour you like."

 _End_

 _So, I'll continue to continue, to pretend  
My life will never end,  
And flowers never bend  
With the rainfall._

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: With massive thanks to cuvalwen who has been doing sterling work as both a beta and ideas bouncer. This seriously wouldn't have been written if not for her. Also thanks to my other beta reader, Ian (WOLJ), who discovered the gaping plot hole without, quite, falling in it.
> 
> Disclaimer: The Professionals are the property of Mark 1 Productions and London Weekend Television. All Rights Reserved. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made.


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